A time to heal
by Lady in black
Summary: Frodo has to leave the Shire after his ordeals during the Ring War. Will the Grey Ship he journeys on into the west take him to a place of peace and healing? REVISED version of a story posted here before. No slash, no profanity, no sex. Slightly AU, dark themes. Please read and review!
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I do not in any way claim ownership of „The Lord of the Rings", „The Hobbit" or anything else that come from the brilliant mind of J.R.R. Tolkien. I do not make any profits from writing this work of (fan-)fiction and have no intention of doing so. No copyright infringement is intended. I do claim characters, places and anything else that is not originally a part of J.R.R. Tolkien's work as my own.

AN: First of all I am not a writer - I am a musician. Music has been and will always be my first and only love and I think it's quite save to say that after 25 years of loving, learning, living, and breathing music.

Many years ago when I was first introduced to the genius of J.R.R. Tolkien I immediately fell in love with Frodo Baggins and Hobbits in general. If I were to live in Middle Earth, you might find me living in the Shire with hairy oversized feet and curly hair enjoying the simplicity and peace of life there. And as much as I appreciated Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" it lacked a proper ending for that one very special Hobbit that I had grown so very fond of. And that was the reason I suppose why I got the idea for this story so many years ago. When I recently read it, I found that it lacked a lot of proper character development and had other flaws that I could not overlook. So I took it down. This story is one of my first ones and in a way has always been my baby - so to speak. It has a special place in my heart and I want it to be perfect (which it will never be of course, but at least I want it to be perfect enough for me). So I decided to take it down, (though it was quite painful to lose the reviews in the process) rewrite it and post it once more. Even though there are many more stories out there that are so much better than this one and I doubt that there's anyone out there who's been waiting for a story like this to appear, I want it to be out there and there's still some hope left that it will be received well by those who take the time to read it.

It is quite a thrill for me to post it yet again and it still makes me nervous like hell to press that publish new chapter button. I am not very confident about my writing but there are people out there who told me, that my writing is not all too terrible and so here I am.

With all that said I ask you to keep in mind, that English is quite unfortunately not my first language, so there most certainly will be errors in my grammar. I do apologize for that in advance. Also this story is AU, as Frodo does not arrive at Tol Eressea but on a different island.

Although this story may be considered movie-verse, I've tried to stay true to the Frodo of the books, who appears to be so much wiser, stronger, and braver. That's just my opinion, though. If you can find it within you, I should very much like to know your thoughts on my little piece of writing here.

As reviews are the only kind of 'payment' I am (hopefully) to receive for my work, they'd be greatly appreciated.

**A TIME TO HEAL**

**Prologue**

_It is said, that Hobbits in general have never left the Shire. Well, we all do know that this is not quite true, especially when the fact is given, that they have Tookish blood running through their veins. Also, it is a well known fact, that Hobbits don't like adventures. And again we all do know, that this is not quite true, especially if there's again Tookish blood involved._

_So we've first seen Bilbo Baggins traveling through half of Middle Earth (at least those who've had the definite pleasure to read "There and back again – A Hobbit's Tale" by Bilbo Baggins)._

_And then, well, and then there was Frodo._

_Frodo Baggins had always been quite different from any other Hobbit living in the Shire. That began with his physical appearance and ended with his extraordinary un-hobbity mind. Hobbits of old tell that he looked more like an Elf and if it hadn't been for his tiny size of body and his hairy feet, he could have easily been mistaken for one. And even if he was certainly not as much into adventures as good old Bilbo had been, Frodo used to be part of an adventure that was so enormously huge and breathtaking, that even dear old Bilbo would have faltered somewhere along its long and winding paths._

_Our father went through many a danger and many an unpleasant task and it is needless to say, that all of it gave him times of hardship after the actual adventure, that indeed had turned out to be a war of such pure evil as all of Middle Earth had never seen before throughout the ages. After his ordeal the days in the Shire had lost their calm and joy and thus the mostly unsung hero of the great Ring War could no longer find peace within himself. It pained the few friends that had remained to see him like this and they were hoping against all odds that something or someone would come to save the once strong Hobbit from his torments. Their prayers were answered when Gandalf the White joined by the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn came to take the fallen hero to a promised land, a land somewhere across the sea that promised healing and peace to any troubled soul that would set foot onto its shores._

_It is a fact, that healing old wounds is a hard thing to do and takes a lot of time. Therefore, the sick and wounded need help and special wounds can only be healed by special people. One of these, you'll get to meet in this story. Taken away from her homeland as a small child she is the one predestined to bring back a meaning to his life – a meaning that goes beyond anything the former Ringbearer still dared to hope for. "Healer of the soul" was the name the elves had given her._

_This is their story told as we – their children – remember it. It is my privilege as the eldest of their offspring to write it all down and I hope that with the help of my siblings and some of Adar's and Naneth's closest friends' help we can stay true to how things back then really happened._

_Thus, I want to invite you to join me on a trip into lands afar, lands we know not of and into a time of healing. Meet my beloved father once again and find out what happened to him after he left the Shire from Mithlond – the Grey Havens._


	2. Chapter 1: A new life

AN: As promised here is the revised version of the first chapter. It turned out a bit longer than the original version, but it needed to be done in order for some better character development. Oh, and just in case you were wondering - I took the original version down. It's a shame that I lost my reviews though, but it couldn't be helped.

Thanks to LalaithElerri for her review. I hope you like the first chapter, too.

Enjoy and if you do - please let me know.

edited: 07/13/13

**Chapter One: A new life**

* * *

Their journey took them over the wild seas to a land that was very different from anything the passengers of the ship had ever seen before. Even the wise old Gandalf seemed to be taken aback by its beauty and serenity. They all left the ship and were welcomed by a variety of peoples: Elves, Istari, Humans, Ents and so many other different kinds of beings, as they had not met on their long journey into the Ring War. But there were no Hobbits, except for Bilbo and himself.

Frodo was tired; the old wound at his left shoulder was now throbbing constantly and a heavy dark cloud of despair fogged his weary heart and tired mind. Neither Bilbo nor Gandalf nor any of his fellows could bring him out of his depressed mood and he was grateful, when a very tall Elf came up to him and offered him to show him to his new home.

They wandered in silence for a while and Frodo's feet became heavier with every step he made. Soon they came to a shire and in a small hill Frodo could see a round door with windows at each side of it. It painfully reminded him of Bagend - his once beloved home in Hobbiton and of all the people that he still held close to his heart and that he had been forced to leave behind. But the shadows clouding his soul had become too strong, too powerful as though he could bear them any longer. His strength had been fading during those lonely years that he had spent mostly alone in the smial of his family and what was left of his former spirits was beginning to disintegrate into nothingness as well. With a fond, however small smile he remembered the day that word from Gandalf had reached him that soon he was to join the Istari on a voyage to a land far across the oceans, where he would find peace and relief from his old pain.

The Elf eventually led him into his new home and then quietly left again, before Frodo even had the slightest chance to utter a word of appreciation. He dropped his small backpack in a corner of the hall and started wandering through the all too familiar smial, not knowing himself what he was looking for, if he was actually looking for anything, that is. Eventually he arrived in the parlor and with a stifled sigh finally allowed himself a bit of rest in one of the two rather comfortable looking armchairs in front of the fireplace. For a while he watched the flames eating their wooden meal while many troublesome thoughts and painful memories of the past crossed his mind. The first tears, he never recognized until their constant flow down his unnaturally pale face began to wet the collar of his old worn shirt, as the small silver drops disappeared into the rough fabric, leaving slightly darker wet spots. Frodo thought of and grieved for everything and everyone that he had been forced to leave behind, Sam and his small family, Pippin, Merry. He wondered whether they were actually missing him. An ugly, tiny, unmerciful voice in his head kept on telling him, that he had only been a burden for them ever since he had returned from Mordor and that they were probably having a party, celebrating his eagerly awaited departure from the Shire. Deep in all his bad thoughts and exhausted from all the tears shed, Frodo eventually fell asleep late at night.

He was awoken by a knock against the front door. Although Frodo was not in the mood for having company or going out, he went to open the door.

"Frodo Baggins?" Frodo frowned as he suspiciously eyed his unexpected visitor. She was a Hobbit all right and for a few moments he tried to remember whether there really hadn't been any Hobbits among the welcome party at the shore of this island the previous night. There hadn't been any except for Bilbo and himself and he was sure of it.

"Yes?" he said with a quiet voice that was still rough from sleep.

"Good day to you, Master Baggins. I am Níniël Cuilanathûr. Master Gandalf asked me to come and find you. May I come in?"

"Yes, certainly" Frodo said with a nod and stepped aside in order to allow her access to his new home. With confusion written all over his face he slammed the door shut with a little more force than he had intended.

"It's beautiful here. Is that what Bag End looks like? I have never been there but I've heard a lot about it."

"There are quite a few similarities," he answered stiffly. "Would you care to join me in the parlor?"

"Have you had any breakfast yet?" Níniël asked, completely ignoring his question while she was studying his home with amazement. "I bet Langulis didn't show you around. He's an extremely shy Elf." she said.

"The answer to both of your questions would be no. But I am not very hungry anyway," Frodo said.

"Strange words coming from a Hobbit's mouth," she smirked and chose to pay no attention to the questioning look in his eyes. "Well, I am. So, do you mind us going into the kitchen?" she asked but was already headed for said part of the house before Frodo had even the slightest chance to answer. Before he knew it Níniël was standing in front of the counters, searching them for any ingredients she might need. Almost immediately she set to work and started preparing breakfast for the two of them. Frodo followed her, hesitation slowing his pace as he approached the other Hobbit. Quietly sitting down at the table he watched her working in silence. As much as she was talking mere moments before, as much she now seemed to concentrate on the task at hand.

With her back turned towards him Frodo found himself studying her. She was beautiful; there was no doubt about it, probably around his age, too. Long dark brown curls softly fell down to her hips and underlined the fine features of her face perfectly well. As many other Hobbits, excluding himself, her eyes were the color of the fertile dark brown soil of the Shire and were the perfect match for her rather small nose and cupid-bow-shaped rosy lips. She wore a white blouse with a nice embroidered green vest and a long brown skirt that feel down to her ankles, leaving her feet bare.

Níniël was working quickly and so it came that rather sooner than later the kitchen table was loaded with everything a Hobbit would look for in a respectable breakfast. Still quiet she joined Frodo and sat down at the opposite side of the table. Frodo watched her as she helped herself to a cup of tea and then, without asking him poured some of the dark steaming liquid into his own. Acting as though nothing was out of the ordinary for her, she started eating while Frodo kept watching her intently, curiosity and another strange feeling, that he couldn't quite name, written all over his face.

"Who are you?" His voice eventually broke the silence of the room when his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Raising an eyebrow, Níniël looked up to face him.

"You're not referring to my name, are you," she pointed out and then put the piece of cheese she was just about to take a bite of back onto a large wooden plate in front of her. Taking a deep breath in she made to answer his question. "I am a healer and I came here a long time ago. The Queen of this island received word from the Lady Galadriel that along with her, Lord Celeborn, and Master Gandalf, two of my own kind would come to our isle that might be in need of my skills. After your arrival I've spoken to Master Gandalf and he voiced quite a few concerns as to your health," she answered truthfully.

"So he sent you to find out about my state of mind? Does he want to find out whether I'm slowly drifting into insanity after… everything that's happened," Frodo questioned her grimly, but made it a point to avoid her eyes while he was taking a sip from his tea.

"If you wish to look at it this way you're probably right," she nodded somewhat hesitantly. Although it would have been a lot easier to tell him a nice little lie, something deep within her told her, that staying on the path of truthfulness was the right thing to do. "I was the only Hobbit here on this island before you and Master Bilbo came. Most of my life I spent with the Elves and they blessed me with their knowledge and powers of healing. They taught me everything they know and I was eager to learn, seeing that there was nothing else they could offer me here. However, rest assured that Master Gandalf only had your best interest in mind when he asked me to look after you – with me being a Hobbit myself."

"He knows me all too well," Frodo admitted after a while of heavy silence between them. "Have you seen my dear Uncle Bilbo then?"

"Indeed. I went to see him last night. If you want, we could visit him later. Why don't you now try and eat something. It certainly wouldn't hurt. You're skinny," she addressed him with a slight smile accompanied by a raised eyebrow and Frodo obliged.

* * *

Later when they had finished breakfast, Níniël insisted on examining the scar on Frodo's left shoulder, as well as his neck, back and sides, and his right hand with the missing ring finger. Carefully she caressed the angry skin surrounding those old wounds pale scars left by cruel Orcs' whips with her fingertips, but Frodo's pain contorted face told her – despite him not making a sound – that no matter how much tenderness she put into her touch, she was still hurting him. But in order for her to learn everything she needed to know about his injuries Níniël had to touch the wounds, learn how they felt and what their temperature, roughness or smoothness suggested about their severity. However, as her fingertips glided over the skin on his shoulders, her hand suddenly jerked back and she looked at him intensely for a while, with the slightest hint of fear buried in her eyes. Frodo saw it.

"What's wrong?" he asked her in surprise. Although the wound had been hurting for quite a while now, he hadn't suffered any seizures for at least a week.

"It was caused by the dagger of a Nazgûl, wasn't it," she declared, more stating what was obvious to her than gathering required information.

"It was. But I was under the impression that you already knew about that from Gandalf or the Lady Galadriel?"

"Have you suffered any seizures?" she asked, ignoring his statement and the look on her face told Frodo, that she already knew the answer. He nodded. "That's what I thought. That makes it harder for it to heal."

"What do you mean? It is healed. There's only this scar left. Sometimes it pains me still and my shoulder feels a bit stiff. But I suppose that is to be expected from such a wound."

"The skin may be healed, but obviously Elrond has not managed to get all of the knife's poison out of you. He is a very skilled healer, mind you, but Middle Earth is not the realm to be when it comes to wounds such as this one."

"But how come that I'm still alive then? The effects of the poison are still rather vivid in my mind. The urge to give in to the shadow's calling is no longer as persistent as it used to be. So, I thought it reasonable to believe that the Ring's lingering effects on me left me with that longing for the shadows," Frodo argued.

"Unfortunately you are quite right about that. However these lingering effects – as you call them – are only enhanced by the remaining poison in your body," Níniël agreed and then paused, obviously lost in thought. "Obviously this was only the first of many injuries this dreadful war has left you with. If you can find it within you, I would very much like for you to tell me everything that happened to you on your journey into Mordor. I realize this must be very difficult and I understand if you'd rather avoid this. But if I am to help you, I need to know as much as you're willing to share."

"You are asking a lot. It is not a story that I am inclined to tell a stranger," Frodo said raising an eyebrow. But Níniël only shrugged her shoulders.

"That I understand. However, when you left from Mithlond you went on a journey in search for peace and healing. True peace can only come from within yourself, but I am the one who can provide healing to a certain degree. In order to so, I need to know what happened. I will not judge, Master Baggins, if that's what you're afraid of," Níniël explained, her voice lacking any sense of urging him into something he was not willing to do. "Time has no meaning on this island. So if you prefer to postpone the telling of your tale to a later point, you are welcome to do so."

"But in the end I will still have to tell it. So what difference are a few more hour, maybe days, or ever weeks going to do?" He still felt uncomfortable to say the least, but even though he did not know why, he felt he could trust Níniël. And so Frodo started to tell her everything that he and Sam had gone through. Níniël was listening quietly, never interrupting him or asking him questions. Sometimes Frodo stopped with his story and always when this happened, Níniël found something interesting outside the window to look at. This gave Frodo the time to wipe away the tears that had escaped his lids without his consent and to keep his dignity. And whenever he was ready to go on with his story, Níniël's gaze would once again be fixed upon him and she would listen to every word he said. To his genuine surprise Frodo found it rather easy to tell his story to her and that was something he certainly had not experienced before. It was one thing to write the story that had changed his life forever into a book knowing that others would read it, for that left him with the comfort that they wouldn't get to see the pain and terror on his face whenever he reminisced about things long lost in the shadows of the past. But telling his troublesome memories to someone was an entirely different matter altogether. It deprived him of all his masks and he couldn't hide his feelings in between the lines of his delicate handwriting in Bilbo's old book. And while it was still more than just a little painful to remember that one single year of his life, it didn't bother him as much to tell it to her, for somehow he knew, that she understood. He didn't know why, but there was something about her, that gave him all the reassurance he needed.

Had anyone come to pass by the Smial and dared to look through the round window into the small bedroom, he would have seen two Hobbits, one of them talking while the other one was listening and all the while that someone standing outside the window would have been left with the impression of a Hobbit trapped in the memories of his own dark past and another one that was not merely listening to what she was told, but would see beyond all that and understand his soul.

Two hours later Frodo finally finished his story with the cleansing of the Shire. "This is what happened. Not more, not less. I hope my telling you all this hasn't bothered you too much," Frodo eventually concluded, making sure to examine the neat pattern of the bed covers thoroughly. Níniël smiled sadly, but Frodo never saw it.

"I am glad and truly honored that you found the strength to relive all this again for now I know what I needed to know." She then checked the clock standing on top of a chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room. "It's almost luncheon. Would you like to visit Master Bilbo? Maybe you wish to rest for a while first?"

"Rest?" Frodo seemed to consider that word for a while. Less than three years ago, he would have laughed at her, but now he felt old, really old, even though he was only at the age of fifty-three (_that is still very young in Hobbit years, considering that we're only coming of age at the age of 33_). His body screamed for rest but Frodo decided to ignore his physical needs. Too desperate was his wish to see Bilbo again. "No, I don't want to rest. As much as the solitude is appreciated, it is a bit lonely even if these surroundings are quite familiar."

"All right then. Please make sure to wear something warm. Even though it doesn't look like it, it is quite chilly outside." Níniël smiled at him and then got up from the bed and left the room to allow Frodo some privacy while he was getting dressed.

Frodo's eyes were fixed on her retreating form before he eventually got up from the bed with a heavy sigh. She had left quite the impression on him – he couldn't deny that. Shaking his head he grabbed his shirt and quickly pulled it over his head, hiding the marks his past had left on him from prying eyes that were not there. Frowning he realized that a feeling that he had long forgotten was beginning to reform somewhere deep inside him. What was it?

Slipping on his waistcoat he heaved another sigh all the while trying to name that feeling that was pushing through the numbness of his heart that had been threatening to swallow him alive for the previous two years. Was it trust? Could he trust her? Or would she hurt him, ask too much of him as others he had once put his faith and trust in had done before? Shaking his head to clear some of the cobwebs he reached for his old worn jacket and the gray elven cloak and hurried to dress into both.

When he finally emerged into the hall of the smial he found Níniël standing by the round front door, waiting for him. "That looks like an elven cape, that you're wearing," she notice with a smile as he approached her. "Perfect choice for today. It'll keep you warm."

"It should. I am a bit cold," Frodo nodded and Níniël smiled at him. She never told him that it was terribly hot in the hole.

Outside it was way cooler, than Frodo had expected. Even his cape, that had done so much good for him on his long journey, couldn't prevent him from freezing. A sharp breeze was coming from the sea and blew the fine dry sand off the coast over the countryside. Níniël led him into a small forest of palm trees nearby. Frodo had never seen anything like it before. When they entered the forest, he discovered beautiful birds, which seemed to put every single color one could think of on display. The trees were high and the ground was covered with all sorts of grass and flowers. As they progressed deeper into the forest, the shape of the trees and flowers changed. They became more common, more the sort of trees Frodo was used to. And after a thirty minutes walk into the depths of the forest, which turned out to be quite a lot larger than he had anticipated, his eyes discovered a small wooden hut in the middle of a bright clearing.

"We're almost there," Níniël said and turned to see how Frodo was doing. To her surprise she saw, that color had returned to his face and his cheeks were no longer white, but adorned with a nice shimmer of soft red. She stifled a sigh of relief. When they reached the hut Níniël knocked and entered without waiting for an answer. Frodo followed her keeping some distance between them and they walked straight into a cozy looking parlor with a crackling fire, many drawings on the walls, two large windows that allowed a lot of sunlight in and three large and comfortable looking armchairs. Bilbo was sleeping soundly in one of them and to Frodo's surprise, Gandalf was sitting in the other one, watching his old friend. Obviously the old wizard had heard them coming in, since he turned in his seat and greeted both Frodo and Níniël with a warm smile.

"There you are, Frodo. I haven't seen you in quite a while," Gandalf said and with a wave of his hand he invited Frodo to sit down on the one empty chair next to him.

"Hello Gandalf. I don't really understand how you can refer to one single day with quite a while," Frodo said smiling back at him and accepting his offer, he sat down.

"Oh, Níniël, haven't you told my dear friend that he has been fast asleep for four days?"

"I have not had a chance yet," she said smiling at Gandalf. "I'll leave you wise men alone now. I still have a lot of work waiting for me at home. Do you want me to escort Master Baggins back to his hut tonight?"

"Yes, I think that's a right good idea. I doubt that he would find his way back in the darkness," Gandalf said and smiled at tiny Níniël. "Now back to business, young lady!" he growled.

"Good day to you, Masters Gandalf, Frodo, and Bilbo," she said and left.

"You too," Frodo muttered and turned to face a grinning Gandalf.

"You happen to like her, don't you," the old wizard said, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

"Yes," Frodo nodded. "But she's a really strange Hobbit."

"Oh yes, indeed she is," Gandalf agreed and his grin grew even wider.

"It's not what you think," Frodo said, annoyance evident in his voice. "She's a wonderful person and easy to have around. That's all."

"Yes, I know, Frodo," Gandalf said, seriousness returning to his old features. "But you should never forget that she's not an ordinary Hobbit. Remember where we are."

"But she seems so normal. It's just that I've never heard of her or her family's name before. Is she from the Shire?" Frodo asked, now curious about the present and past of this lass.

"Both yes and no. Níniël Cuilanathûr is the daughter of Murinel and Rosmertha Flourish. Her family used to live in a small village south-east from Bree. I can't recall its name. Both her mother and her father were killed by some Nazgûls, fifty-one years ago. Níniël never got to know them, because all of it happened the very day her mother had given birth to her. I was on my way to pay dear Bilbo a visit and found them all dead, except for baby Níniël. I found her and took her to Elrond and he had her brought here. That's why you've neither heard of her family nor her. You were a mere toddler at the time," Gandalf explained. He took a deep breath in. "My dear Frodo, there are some sad news and I am afraid that I can't spare you hearing them."

"Then do tell," Frodo said in a calm voice. In a way he had become used to getting bad news.

"You know that Bilbo is a very old Hobbit now, he recently celebrated his 131st birthday. I've talked to the Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond, and Níniël and they all agreed on one very sad fact. Bilbo will die soon." Gandalf said silently and then watched the face of his friend. All the color that he had regained during his walk with Níniël was gone.

"Why?" he whispered, staring into the fire.

"It's not because he used to be a ring bearer, if it's that what frightens you. He's old and his body won't work properly anymore. Even though this island is part of the undying lands, eternal life is not granted here. Actually he has asked Níniël to bring you here, since he wanted to talk to you in private as long as he is still able to do so. And that's exactly why I'm taking my leave now." Gandalf got up from his seat and looked down on Bilbo's sleeping form. "Wake up you old sleepy head," he said and gently slapped the old Hobbit's cheeks. Immediately Bilbo jerked awake and when he eventually recognized, where he was, he started to smile.

"Oh there you are my dearest Frodo. I'm glad Níniël obeyed my wish so quickly," he whispered.

"I'm going to leave you now," Gandalf said and bent down to hug Bilbo. "Farewell my friend." The tall Wizard let go of the small Hobbit and then without another word he left the hut.

* * *

Outside Gandalf found Níniël sitting on a bench in front of the hut, her gaze fixed on something not visible to him deep within the forest. Quietly Gandalf sat down next to her and joined her, lost in his own musings.

"So what can you tell me about Frodo?" he addressed her after a while, still staring into the countless in-betweens of the trees.

"There is still a great darkness and great grief inside of him. Even though the physical wounds are not entirely healed, they are not what concern me the most. It's rather his emotional state. All that he did – everything that he was forced to do - has almost destroyed his soul. He was never what you would consider an ordinary Hobbit and in that way he is very special and will one day be rewarded with great honors and fame, but he has lost his home in this world. Frodo feels as if he doesn't belong here anymore - it's almost as if he thinks that there is nothing left for him that is worth living for. I am afraid that he is waiting for death to finally come and claim him, for he feels that death will be his only relief," she told Gandalf of her observations, her voice sad and quiet. The Istari's eyes had widened considerably while she was speaking and Níniël saw what she could only describe as guilt and pity in them.

"I'm afraid I've asked too much of him," Gandalf admitted, his voice rising hardly above a whisper. "I should have known, that it is not right to burden a Hobbit with the obligation of trying to destroy the One Ring."

"No, Gandalf. Don't blame yourself. It was his choice. It was him who said that he would carry the Ring into Mordor. I don't think he ever truly believed that he could destroy it. At least not at first. Maybe it was the Ring's growing influence on him that made him want to do it. Isn't that saying in the Shire? Stubborn as Baggins?" Níniël looked up at the Wizard and saw him smirk.

"I believe it is."

"I think he feels that he has failed, that he didn't complete his quest. Because he was pure of mind, body and soul the Ring's influence on him could plant that ever growing whisper of a doubt in his mind."

"He is no longer."

"Indeed, he is not. He needs time to heal and to find his paths in this world again." She hesitated to continue. Níniël knew that what she was about to ask for now, was against the rules. She gathered her inner strengths and continued. "I know that this is against the old ways, but once Frodo will be better, both emotionally and physically, he will have to return to the Shire. It is where he belongs after all."

"You know that this is impossible," Gandalf said.

"All I know is that it has to happen, if you want Frodo to find peace of mind again. Besides you know it is possible to return to Middle Earth. I am allowed to whenever I wish to do so," Níniël argued.

"But you don't really want to leave, do you," Gandalf said, now slightly worried, that Níniël actually was considering leaving the isle, for she would never be able to return.

"Not now. Thanks to you I have my own quest to fulfill now and that quest is Frodo Baggins. I will move to his place for a while. I'm afraid it's the only way for me to keep a close enough eye on him."

"I understand. But I cannot decide upon his returning to the Shire. It's the decision of the Lady Nessea."

"I know. And I also know for a fact, that she's well known for her wisdom. She'll know the right thing to do. For now, I will do for him what I can." Níniël got up from the bench and came face to face with Gandalf. "You're a good friend Gandalf. And even though you know a lot about us, you obviously don't know everything. All you wise Elves and Wizards will have to trust me, for I am what you are not. A Hobbit. Fare you well now, my friend," she said with a hint of a smile and without looking back she disappeared into the forest.

* * *

Very late the same evening, Níniël hurried towards Frodo's smial after she had not found him at Bilbo's hut. Only Gandalf had been there and told her what had occurred. As she approached the Hobbit hole with quick footsteps she found the front door open. Although she knew, that no evil could come and harm him in any way, worry that was on the brink to panic had taken hold of her heart. Quietly she entered through the round door and it took her eyes some time to adjust to the darkness as the candles in the hall weren't lit and the rest of the hole was equally dark. But Níniël could feel Frodo's presence in the hole and so she started looking for him. To her great relief she found him in the dark kitchen sitting by the open window, staring out into the darkness of the night. As far as she could see, his eyes were puffy from too many tears shed and he stared without seeing into the night, the pale skin of his face only illuminated by silver moon light.

"He died," Frodo whispered without looking at her and a single tear ran down his cheek. Níniël rested a comforting hand on his right shoulder, but said nothing. "But I guess I should be grateful that he could die such a peaceful death," Frodo went on, his voice never rising above a hoarse whisper. Gently Níniël helped Frodo up from his seat and with silent agreement he allowed her to guide him into his bedroom. Once she was certain, that he was all right, she left Frodo alone.

* * *

Níniël woke early the next morning. After she had left Frodo in his bedroom she had retreated to the living room and had sat down in front of the fireplace, a book in her hands over which she had fallen asleep sometime during the night. Yawning she got up and stretched before she went into the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for Frodo and herself. It was quiet in the smial and before she went to work, Níniël opened the window to let in the fresh morning air as well as the sounds of the morning birds that were greeting the day with their melodic voices. After she had lit a fire in the cooking place she hung a water kettle over the flames, stopping for a while to warm her cold hands. She went into the adjourning storage room to retrieve some eggs when she all of a sudden heard weird noises apparently coming from Frodo's bedroom. Quickly she put the eggs on the kitchen table and hastened towards his room at the other end of the smial. She was about to open the door to see what was happening when the sounds stopped and the only thing left to be heard was Frodo's labored breathing constantly interrupted by him mumbling incoherent words. Fear took hold of her; fear of what she knew was going on behind the still closed door, as his words became more intelligible. Wasting no more time she entered the room and swiftly she made her way towards Frodo's still figure on the bed. His chest was heaving rapidly as his dream imprisoned him in its darkness and despair. Níniël's fingers were trembling when she started to unbutton his shirt in order to inspect what she knew had put him in this deadly peril. As she worked on his shirt she kept mumbling his name, knowing full well, that he would not hear her, that her voice had no power to intrude the seizure and get through to the Hobbit.

Eventually she uncovered his shoulder and saw that the old scar there had reopened and was angrily inflamed. Frodo whimpered in pain when she touched the angry hot skin surrounding it and Níniël quickly mumbled an apology he never heard. She made haste as she stormed into the hall where she had left her bag and returned to the bedroom, rummaging through the bag's contents and eventually producing a small black leather case containing various instruments as well as a small tightly closed jar and some bandages. Carelessly she dropped everything on the nightstand and opened the leather case to retrieve a small knife from it.

"I am sorry, but it has to be done," she whispered as she brought the knife down to Frodo's shoulder, willing the tremor of her hands to stop as she proceeded to open the wound further. Frodo let out a heart wrenching scream of agony as the knife cut through his flesh and black pus began oozing out of the reopened wound. Níniël put the knife aside and lacking a piece of clean cloth she used his shirt to wipe away some of the nastily smelling sticky liquid that kept flowing out of his shoulder. "I'll be right back," she whispered once Frodo had calmed a little and rushed into the kitchen in order to fetch some hot water and clean cloths.

When she returned to his bedside the oozing had stopped and she added some silvery leaves to the hot steaming water in the bowl she had brought with her. Almost burning her fingers she soaked a piece of white cloth in the liquid and cleaned the wound properly this time. Once she was sure that it was clean enough, she reached for the jar on the nightstand and put some of the ointment it contained onto the wound. She had to fully remove his sweat soaked shirt in order to bandage the wound properly. It took her a while to do so, but eventually she accomplished her task and with a sigh of relief she sat down next to him and took his limp hand in her own, the only thing left for her to do now, was to wait for him to wake up.

Her fingers had never ceased caressing the smooth skin of his hand when Frodo's eyes slowly fluttered open a few hours later. Níniël looked up at him and greeted him with a warm smile.

"It's over," she whispered and gently stroked his pale cheek.

"It happened again, didn't it," he stated, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

"Yes," she confirmed his suspicion. Frodo tried to sit up on the bed but his face contorted in pain when he moved his shoulder. "Easy," Níniël tried to soothe him and with a hand firmly pressed against his chest she forced him to stay still. "Let the medicine do its work, Master Frodo. The remaining poison of the Nazgûl blade has finally come out and it will take some time for it to heal." Frodo nodded obediently and closed his eyes for a few moments. "Why don't you try and rest some more while I go and prepare something to eat for you. You need to regain your strength." Even though Frodo found the thought of food quite revolting he nodded in agreement and Níniël eventually let go of him. Getting up from his bedside she quickly gathered her remaining supplies and was about to leave when Frodo's voice stopped her.

"Why is your name of elven origin?" he asked her, his eyes still tightly shut in a feeble attempt to block out the pain coming from his shoulder. She hesitated for a moment too long and he was about to take his question back, when she began to speak.

"I never had a Hobbit name. My parents were killed before they had a chance to name me. So I was given an Elven name. They named me Níniël Cuilanathûr for they thought that it would suit me," she explained quietly.

"What does it mean, then?"

"Níniël means 'Child of Tears' and Cuilanathûr means 'Healer of the soul'."

"'Healer of the soul'," Frodo repeated thoughtfully and eventually opened his eyes to look at her.

"Yes," she shrugged her shoulders. "I still wonder why they've chosen this name for me. I have not healed any souls so far in my life and I probably never will. But far be it from me to question the Queen's wisdom." She paused and smiled at Frodo. "Rest now. I will be back in a little while." With it said she left the bedroom and left a weak and stunned Frodo behind.

"Child of tears," he whispered before sleep once again claimed him.

* * *

Later that same day Frodo felt much better and to his utter surprise, the pain in his shoulder had lessened considerably. He had eaten some and he felt some of his strength returning already. Níniël even agreed to accompany him on a walk into the garden once she had made sure that he had not developed a fever. The moon was already high in the sky when they were engulfed by the cool autumn breeze that flew softly over the hills and trees. They sat down on a bench in front of the smial and enjoyed the silence and peace of the night for a while. Eventually it was Frodo's voice that broke their silent reverie.

"It's beautiful here," he said and took a deep breath in. "So very peaceful…"

"That's why it is called Tol Sîdh – Isle of peace," Níniël said and smiled. "It's the perfect place for a former Ringbearer to rest and heal."

"There's something weird, though," Frodo said thoughtfully and sighed. "Even though I couldn't stand it to be in Hobbiton anymore, I miss it. And I miss the people living there. I was so consumed by my grief and troubles that I could not appreciate their efforts of making me feel welcomed and loved. Even though the Ring was long gone, I was – and probably still am – under its spell. It frightens me. And it frightens me that in a way I wish I could return to the Shire, go back home and feel at home again."

"I see," said Níniël quietly.

"You understand?" Frodo asked her somewhat surprised. She nodded.

"This is not your home. And it never will be. You don't belong here," she mused and silence once again fell over them.

"What about you? Do you belong here?" Frodo asked her after a while and he could sense that there was no simple answer to his question.

"I don't know. Both yes and no, I suppose. I never had a choice. It was my destiny to come here, to grow up here, to become a part of this isle. I often wondered what my life would have been like had things not occurred the way they did. However I do firmly believe that everything happens for a reason. Sometimes it just takes a very long time to see reason in the things that all of us have to endure and live through. Maybe one day you will understand why you were destined to carry that Ring to the edges of Sammath Naur."

"I wish I could understand, Níniël. But I don't and to tell you the truth I still wish that none of this had ever come to pass."

"But it did and there's nothing you could do to change that now. That day, when you accepted the Ring as your burden, your life was turned upside down and you probably didn't realize back then that from that moment on, it would never be the same again. Thanks to you, Middle Earth survived to see another age but you were left behind – you never saw the future rising. Heroes are easily forgotten, although I doubt that they will ever forget about you. They probably just don't understand the extent of the ordeal you had to go through and you can't blame them. There's nothing within their horizons that could be compared to what you had to live through."

Frodo never answered her and chose to listen to the sounds of the night as he was pondering her words. Eventually he got up and proceeded to go back inside. Níniël followed him quietly and closed the door behind them.


	3. Chapter 2: Níniel

AN: Many thanks to those who reviewed and put the story on their alerts list. You've brightened my day considerably.

I hope this chapter won't be too boring for you as there is very little Frodo in it. It will take me a while to update for the next chapter is rather long and once I will be done rewriting it, it might end up being even longer. Don't be too surprised if it takes a week or maybe longer for me to update. Now on with the chapter.

edited 07/12/2013

**Chapter 2: **Níniël

* * *

_Many years before the Ring War would roll over Middle Earth and eventually have its effects on the Shire, strange and rather frightening things had started to happen in the peaceful land of our ancestors. Even though most other peoples had chosen to remain ignorant of their sheer existence, dark forces had laid their eyes upon the peace loving Hobbits. In the year 2970 of the third age or 1370 Shire Reckoning everything started. This is the story of my mother as it was told to us by Gandalf the White, shortly before he took his last voyage over the seas to Valinor._

_Murinel Flourish, the baker of the village (I'm afraid, Gandalf couldn't recall the name of the village) and Rosmertha Goodbody great grand daughter of Lily Goodbody, formerly Baggins were a newlywed couple and expecting the arrival of their first child. Their families had been against their union and so they had secretly left Hobbiton and their narrow-minded families behind to start their life together in the Barrow Downs. Murinel even managed to make a decent living for his wife, himself, and his future child as he soon found work in a bakery owned by an elderly widow that happened to be in desperate need of younger, faster hands to do the daily chores she could longer manage herself. The widow had provided them with a nice cozy hut between two old oaks with enough room for the growing family and many comforts that made living sorely depending on their own hands' work a lot easier._

_Eventually their first child, a daughter, was born on the first day of Winterfilth in the year 1470. And as joyous as the day should have been for the both of them as tragically it ended. Neither Murinel nor Rosmertha had the faintest knowledge that a dark power somewhere in the far away land of Mordor had set their eyes upon them. Blissfully ignorant of the world around them as only parents can be with their new baby child in their arms, they never heard the thundering of mighty black hooves as nine black riders thrust their spurs into their horses' flanks to urge them into such a fast gallop that their appearance was cloaked by dark cloud of dust from the road they travelled on._

* * *

When the door to the small hut between the two oaks burst open the tips of large blades were the first things the two shocked Hobbits on the bed at the far end of the room saw and large hands, clad in dark iron gloves were the last before the Nazgûl blades extinguished their love and lives forever.

"Get the girl," their leader's faceless cold voice demanded and one of the other Nazgûl stepped forth to fulfill the Witchking's command. "Don't harm her. Our master still needs her." The six slaves that had accompanied the nine Nazgûl on their mission now joined their masters in the hut, their eyes darting around the room as if they were hoping to find something of value to them.

"Yes, my lord," the other Nazgûl said, his voice a ghostly whisper as he approached the now blood soaked bed and reached for the wriggling bundle in her dead mother's limp arms. Before he could as much as touch the blanket a dark voice that seemed to fill the entire room made stop dead in his movements.

"Touch her and this will be the day of your death," the voice growled. The Nazgûl turned around and when he saw, who had threatened him, he couldn't help but had to laugh out loud. What appeared to be an old man in gray robes was standing in the door way, in his hand he held a long stake, which he obviously used to lean on. His face was hidden by the rim of a huge equally gray hat and only a long gray beard could be seen that was resting on his chest.

"I don't think you are in any position to give me orders, old man," the Nazgûl's laugh transformed into a dangerous snarl as he slowly turned from the bed and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"It is apparent that you obviously don't know who you are talking to," the gray figure replied to the weakly disguised threat. Slowly he eventually raised his head, so that he could look at them. Hatred was carved into the cold dark blue of his eyes that seemed as though they had seen eternity.

"Then, pray tell, who am I talking to?" asked the Nazgûl who was still by no means impressed.

"You're talking to Gandalf the Gray, if names are so important to you. And I came to take the girl. I cannot allow her to be taken to your master."

"Hear, hear! And what would a wizard like you want with a tiny Hobbit?"

"Oh, she has lost her parents and needs people who know how to take proper care. I doubt your master's capability to accomplish such a task."

"Is that so. Well, I'm afraid, that her future has already been decided and it is not with whomever you consider worthy." Now the Nazgûl no longer hesitated. His huge hand went towards the bed and grabbed the little girl. Holding her upside down by her feet like a recently slain piece of prey he reached for his sword with his free hand. "My master wants this child and he shall have it."

"Not if I can help it," Gandalf said calmly.

"I'm just afraid you can't" the Nazgûl said. Now his companions started to approach Gandalf, all of them with their swords in hands, ready for a fight they thought, they had already won. But Gandalf was quite a bit faster than they had anticipated. In an instant he raised his long stake, murmuring an ancient spell in a tongue, none of them understood and when a flash of green light erupted from the staff's tip the six slaves were thrown across the room and each of them greeted the ground with a sickening thud. Gandalf, obviously pleased with himself, smiled. For a while the Nazgûl stood fixed to the spot.

"Are you now willing to hand me the child? Or do you perhaps wish to join your servants' fate? And do not doubt that I don't have the power to deal with you in an equally deadly way."

"You'll never get the girl!" the Witchking screamed furiously. "The Dark Lord wants the baby and he shall have her."

"As you wish," Gandalf said grimly and the expression on his face darkened even more. Again he murmured ancient spells and now the same thing happened to the Nazgûl. However, Gandalf's words were not as powerful as to take the lives of the Ringwraiths. His spell was merely potent enough to leave them unconscious for but a little while and when the Witchking fell to his knees, the wizard had to make haste. Silence had claimed the room and frightened the Istari. The child had hit the ground along with her captor and Gandalf feared for the worst when his eyes found the unmoving all too quiet bundle that was half buried underneath the Nazgûl's iron glove.

"Oh my, what have they done to you, my precious little thing," he muttered as he carefully removed the tiny being from underneath the cold heavy fist. He couldn't stop a sigh of relief to disturb the uncomfortable quiet when he felt the child's breath against the skin of his hand. "I shall bring you to the elves. All though even they cannot give you back what was taken from you today, they will know of a way to help you." In the very moment Gandalf turned on his heels and proceeded to walk out of the hut the tiny girl in his arms stirred and looked at him with big blue eyes. For a second she seemed to consider whether he meant harm or not but was it thirst, fear, or sheer exhaustion – Gandalf couldn't tell which – she began to cry. The old wizard sighed. He knew that it would turn out to be a long seven days trip to Rivendell if he didn't find a way to calm the baby Hobbit.

Seven exhausting days of riding on horseback later, Gandalf and the ever weeping baby girl arrived in Rivendell, the home of Elrond and his daughter Arwen. The house of the elves was one of the most beautiful and oldest buildings on the surface of Middle Earth. It was not the first time Gandalf visited this astounding example of elven architecture for he often sought Elrond's advice concerning the twisting fates of Middle Earth. This time it would be no different for even though the Istari knew that saving this tiny Hobbit from the hands of the greatest evil ever known to any kind was nearly as crucial as keeping the one ring hidden from the forces lurking in Mordor, he did not have the faintest idea as to what was to become of the still nameless child. He was welcomed by the wise elf and his daughter Arwen Undómiel with words that were true to their mostly gentle nature but in a way also reserved, for they knew that the wizard came to their home with great worries and trouble lying heavily on his shoulders.

"Mae govannen," Elrond said and bowed his head slightly. "It is good to see you in good health, Mithrandir."

"Greetings to you, friend, and may your day be bright and blessed," Gandalf smiled at the mentioning of his elven name. Elrond gestured for him to follow him inside to his study where they sat down while Arwen stood next to her father, her eyes fixed on something the wizard held in his arms.

"Word of your disruption of the dark lord's evil plan precedes you, my friend," Elrond eventually spoke and gestured towards the wriggling bundle and for the first time Gandalf noticed that the desperate weeping throughout his journey to Rivendell that his ears had grown accustomed to while every fiber of his heart had been aching for that little one had finally ceased. "You came looking for help, I presume," Elrond stated and looked at the wizard expectantly.

"You are quite right as always, my dear Elrond. However it is not help for myself I seek but rather for this innocent little soul that everything taken away from her only hours after her birth," Gandalf nodded and with tired fingers he removed the small part of the blanket that had been hiding the child's face. When Arwen saw the red puffy eyes of the baby and the look of utter distress in them, she stepped towards the Istari and took the tiny bundle from him. Gandalf happily obliged. The girl however started to weep again and even Arwen's soothing Elfish lullabies couldn't calm her down. "Níniël," Arwen whispered and softly kissed the child on the forehead. "Child of tears," she continued in the common tongue, finally giving the child a name and thus existence. Elrond nodded his agreement to his daughter's choice of the name. Arwen smiled a little at her father and without another word she disappeared to somewhere in the halls of what was Rivendell so that the child could be attended to.

"We shall take care of her," Elrond said toward Gandalf. "But for now you may rest and have something to eat. You are exhausted, I think."

"Indeed, I am. Níniël and the urgency of my journey forced me to ignore my desires for rest. She cried most of the time, and I cannot blame her. An old wizard can hardly compensate such a fragile life for the loss of its parents," Gandalf replied, fighting back the need to let out a huge yawn.

"Have you yet decided what will happen with the girl," Gandalf asked as he and Elrond dined in the large hall of Rivendell later that evening.

"She will be taken to Tol Sîdh. She will be safe there and will be brought up by Elves," Elrond said.

"Wouldn't it be better for her to be brought up among her own kin? I have a friend in Hobbiton. He certainly would agree to take her in."

"No. It is too dangerous, Gandalf. The Ring Wraths have found her before and they certainly wouldn't hesitate to destroy a small hobbit village in order to fulfill their master's command. Tol Sîdh is out of their reach. No harm can come upon Níniël there," Elrond declined the wizard's request.

"But she'll have to stay there for the rest of her life, won't she."

"Not necessarily. If she wants to return to her roots, she will be allowed to do so. Serunam will take her to the isle first thing in the morning. He is quite good with children and the only one willing to go on the trip. Times are getting more dangerous for our kin."

"As they are for the rest of the world," Gandalf said, suddenly in deep thought. "The day will come soon, I suppose."

"Yes. The first age is long over and Sauron will reclaim his property."

"This mustn't happen."

"No, never. Is the ring safe?"

"Yes, it is where it has always been. I was on my way to visit the bearer when I was informed about the girl's fate. And still I wonder why Sauron wanted her."

"It is quite likely that he wanted to use her as his spy in the Shire – so that she could keep an eye on his most prized possession until the time for him to strike would come. I think he knows where the Ring is hidden and has known for quite a while and presumed that a Hobbit would be perfect to suit his need. But let's drop this topic for now, since the day, the final ring bearer will be chosen is still far and many times the earth will circle around the sun. For now, Níniël will leave for Tol Sîdh and so we are safe for the time being. But I am sure that this is not the last time that a Halfling will pass over the threshold of Rivendell." Elrond got up from his seat and bid Gandalf a good night. The old wizard spent some more time in the hall and then left for his quarters. He could only hope that Elrond was not mistaken.

It was still early in the next morning, when Serunam bid his farewell and left with Níniël. Somehow Arwen had managed to calm the girl and so the elf had quite an easy time with her. But it was a long way to the Gray Havens where an elven ship would finally take them to the isle. Serunam was a fast rider and so the distance that would take a mere man more than three weeks was covered by the lone rider in less than two. For the entire length of their ride towards Mithlond Níniël had stayed calm in his arms and would only cry to make one of her basic needs known to the elf.

Their brief days and hours of peace only lasted until the moment they set foot on the ship that was to take them beyond the borders of Middle Earth. Níniël started crying once again as soon as the last rope that bound the elven ship to the land of her birth was removed from it. There was nothing with Serunam's might to make the constant flow of tears cease and so he settled for whispering sweet and calming nothings into her tiny, pointy ears.

However, he was grateful when a few days later they docked on the shores of Tol Sîdh. Their welcome party consisted of a few elves that had been sent to the shores by the queen of the island and they insisted on instantly taking Serunam and the Perian child to see the ruler. Serunam followed them obediently but was quite reluctant to hand Níniël over into their caring and well meaning hands.

After they had walked for a mere thirty minutes they eventually arrived in front of a building as Serunam had never seen one before. Elves had been its architects there was no doubt in his mind about that as it in a way resembled the splendors of Rivendell, but it was at least twice its size and its beauty was almost overwhelming. With Níniël still in his arms he was led into a great hall where a single female elf seemed to eagerly await their arrival.

"Greetings, dear Serunam and welcome to the home of Nessea where you shall find peace and rest. I was informed that you are not travelling alone, but the true nature of your voyage remains a mystery. Tell, what fortune has taken you to the shores of Tol Sîdh?"

"Greetings to thee too, my Lady Nessea. Bad fortune has been with this young being and Elrond and Gandalf the Gray ask for thy help."

"As I see, she is not of our kin," Nessea said looking down at the now quiet bundle in Serunam's arms.

"Indeed she's not, my lady. The Lady Arwen has named her Níniël. She's of the people of the Periannath. Her parents were killed by the Wraths of the Dark Lord. Masters Elrond and Gandalf think her to be safe only within thy care and ask thee to be her guardian on her way into life."

"And that I shall be," Nessea said and smiled. "Níniël does justice to her character. She's weeping."

"Indeed and she has been doing so constantly for the length of our voyage on the sea and for even a longer time before that." Serunam walked up to Nessea and handed her the bundle. "I shall give her to the peace and safety of thy arms, my lady."

"So be released from this burden and go your ways in peace, my young friend. We shall remember you as the messenger of new life. Good fortune and blessings may be with you on your way. Greetings to Masters Elrond and Gandalf may be with you on your way home."

"I thank thee, my Lady Nessea. I shall tell them, that Níniël is now in the safety of thy hands. Blessings and good fortune." Serunam turned and left Níniël back to begin her life among a kind that was so much unlike her.

~* 33 YEARS LATER *~

"Naneth? Naneth!" Níniël was running through the halls of Adab Calen (the green house), looking for her stepmother. She found her in the library, deep in thought. Now almost ashamed of being so loud before, she sneaked into the large room. "Naneth, am I disturbing you?" she carefully asked. The Elf looked up.

"Of course not, my child. What brings you here?" she asked softly, her indescribable fondness of the Perian that she considered her daughter evident in her eyes.

"Why am I not like everybody else? Look at me! Except for my tiny pointed ears, we have nothing in common! I am so small and my feet are so large and hairy. What has happened to me? Why am I not like the other Elves?" Níniël looked up at the Lady Nessea, asking for the hundredth time throughout the years the very same questions.

"Because you are no Elf. You are a Perian, a Hobbit," Nessea smiled as she offered the same answer to the young Hobbit as she had offered her so many times before and softly caressed Níniël's cheek.

"I know that, Naneth. But it is not an answer to my questions. Why do you always refuse to tell me why I am here? After all I cannot be the only Perian out there. And yet there is no one like me on this isle," Níniël sighed heavily, all the while desperately trying to hold back her tears. "I've read all the books you gave me recently and I think I'm beginning to understand about my own kind. But they're so different from anything I've grown up with and I suddenly feel as though I don't belong anywhere anymore." She was no longer able to hold back her tears and sat down heavily on one of the chairs in the large library. "I just want to understand."

"I know," Nessea nodded and kneeled in front of the young Hobbit. "I was waiting for the right time to tell you everything, my child. And it would seem to me, that the right moment in time may finally have come today." Gently the elf wiped some of the tears from Níniël's cheeks and smiled at her. "You are so beautiful and yet Arwen could not have given you a more fitting name, my child of tears," Nessea said in a soft voice and Níniël finally met the queen's eyes with her own.

"Please, I want to know all about me. Would you tell me?" Níniël begged and still somewhat reluctant Nessea told her the story of how she had come to the isle, what had happened to her parents and answered all the questions, Níniël had.

"But this is terrible. I mean, I was a burden for everyone ever since I was born. And there's no way for me to pay all those people back for what they have done for me," Níniël whispered hoarsely, trying hard to swallow the ever growing lump in her throat.

"They don't expect you to, my child. You have the most innocent part in all of this and everyone knows that you are without guilt," Nessea tried to console her.

"That doesn't make me feel better. You have taught me everything you know about your healing powers and I own them now too, but still I've only been a burden for everyone."

"My child, you are now one of our most powerful healers and that could only happen because you are different. You have the blood of the Periannath running through your veins and the knowledge of Elves. That is a gift you might not yet be able to appreciate but the day will come when you will. You understand about both worlds, even though you do not yet know it. Elves of course can heal people of another kind, but they lack the ability to look into their souls and see the damages and illnesses there. You however have this ability."

"But there are no other Halflings around."

"Not now. But there probably will be one day. You can never know that."

"I wish I could."

"Alas, you can't, not now. Be patient and use your skills and talents wisely, for your sake and the sake of others." Nessea now saw, that Níniël was once again crying. She lowered her head and kissed the young Hobbit on her forehead. "Don't cry my child, though your name says that you are a child of tears. There are so many things that should bring you joy and happiness. Cherish them, for there will be rough days, when you will think back to them and you will be happy to have such memories. I love you, my child." Níniël looked up to the Elf who had always been like a mother to her and a smile appeared through her tears.

"Thank you Naneth, my mother. I love you too."

"Now go and do some good. I guess there's plenty of work in the houses of healing."

"Oh, indeed there is for we got visitors from Minas Tirith the other day and I was asked to teach them some abilities, they don't have."

"Then go, and don't cry anymore my child. You can do so much good. And when you come back, I'll have a little surprise for you for it is your birthday."

"I can't wait. I'll come back as soon as I am done."

"Hurry and go now and do what they ask you to do." With a smile on her lips, Níniël left Nessea alone in the library and was on her way to teach those, who did not yet know, that their teacher's lessons would prove to be of immeasurable value in a war that had not yet come to pass.

The same evening Níniël was called to the private quarters of the Lady Nessea and she immediately set out to find the Elf she thought of as her mother. Too overwhelming was her curiosity what Nessea had prepared for her day of honor. She found Nessea waiting for her all dressed in warm clothes and there were some for her, too. "Are we going for a walk?" Níniël said as she discovered the preparations.

"In a way, we are. Dress quickly and you shall find out." Nessea said smiling at the young Hobbit. Soon they were on their way out of Adab Calen and they went for a long walk through the forests and fields of Tol Sîdh. Eventually they approached an area with lovely green hills. It was already dark outside and Níniël couldn't see much. But Nessea's steps had become faster and they obviously were close to where Nessea wanted to go. Eventually between two hills the queen stopped. Níniël didn't say a word, even though she was extremely curious, what Nessea wanted to show her out there in the middle of the night.

"Níniël, do you remember, what was written in one of Bilbo Baggins's books – concerning Hobbits?" Nessea asked.

"Yes, I do," Níniël was quick to reply, the sound of her voice urging the elf to go on.

"So you've read about their homes and especially how and where they're built."

"Yes."

"You're celebrating a very special birthday today, my child, because you turn thirty-three. For a Hobbit that means, that he or she is becoming of age. And on this special day I want to give you something that will bring you closer to your kind – that will help you become one of them," Nessea explained, but Níniël didn't answer. "I want to show you your new home."

"My new home?" Níniël repeated, suddenly feeling frightened and excited at the same time.

"Yes. Follow me." Nessea went towards one of the hills and only now Níniël saw, that there actually was a round door in it between two round windows. A path through a beautiful garden with all sorts of flowers and herbs led towards it and as Nessea approached it, the door swung open all on its own accord. "Come in," she said and entered. She had to bend down, since the door was way too small for her. Níniël followed close behind her. She kind of liked the idea of having her own home. The inside revealed a welcoming entrance hall. The walls were painted in a bright white with a drawing on the walls every here and there. The floor was laid out with some sort of a dark wood. To her left there was a door that led into a cozy living room with a fireplace and comfortable looking armchairs. A small desk and chair were standing on the other side of the room and a bookshelf stood next to it. And everything seemed to be made for people of her size. Nessea sat down in one of the armchairs and watched Níniël discovering the room. A couple of minutes later she was joined by the hobbit, who sat down in the arm chair next to her.

"What do you think?" Nessea asked.

"It is wonderful," Níniël whispered and a single tear ran down her cheek. "You really want to give me all this?"

"Of course. It is yours. I'm glad that you like it."

"Oh I do. Thank you, Naneth."

"You're most welcome. I'm going to leave you alone now, so that you can get used to your new home. Good night, my child."

"Good night - mother. I'll be coming to see you very often."

"I know." Nessea got up and after she and Níniël had embraced each other for the longest time, she left the hobbit home. The very moment that she passed over the threshold, a tear ran down the Elf's cheek and she left her 'daughter' back to live her life on her own - and without her.

* * *

"Not long after that Níniël was known as the healer of the hills and many people came to seek for her help. Níniël lived a good life, even though she sometimes felt very lonely. But she got used to it and ever since, she is one of the most respected persons here on the isle. She's helped many," Gandalf finished.

"So this is how she came here," Frodo said quietly his eyes resting on the dancing flames of the fire in the living room's fireplace. "That's the most wondrous story, I've ever heard. So, Sauron wanted her to be his spy in Hobbiton?"

"Yes, he did, but as you can see, we destroyed his plan."

"And a good thing it is, that you did. She's gone through a lot. Now I do not only know why her name is Child of Tears, but understand. Compared to her I was really lucky, even though my parents have died and made me an orphan. After all I still had Bilbo to take care of me – one of my own kind."

"Don't you think, that she was lucky too?"

"I don't know. It must have been hard for her to be different from everyone else around her all life long."

"Perhaps. But everything possible was done in order to let her know where she came from and what she really is. As I recall even some of your Uncle Bilbo's writing was brought her so that she could learn about life in the Shire and about another quite astounding Hobbit. Of course that could never replace being with her own kin; however, she now is no longer the only Hobbit here."

"Certainly not." Frodo paused and smiled at his old friend. Then his smile faded and he fell back into deep thought.

"What troubles you?" Gandalf asked, worry evident in his aged features.

"It's nothing, old friend." Again Frodo paused, but the smile never returned to his face. "Gandalf, I beg your forgiveness, but I am rather tired. It is quite late."

"Indeed," Gandalf smiled back at him, slowly getting up from his chair and attempting to stretch his tired limbs – not quite an easy undertaking being a grown Istari in a smial. "Good night, Frodo. I will be gone for a few days as I wish to pay a visit to Galadriel and Elrond."

"Then go with the brightest blessings and good fortune," Frodo said and got up from his chair to accompany Gandalf on his way to the door. He had already set a foot over the threshold, when he turned around once more.

"Are you feeling any better, Frodo?"

"A little. But I still feel the burden of dark days long lost in the past weighing heavily upon my soul and body."

"I see. Good night, my friend," Gandalf smiled and then left the Hobbit.

Frodo closed the door behind him. Slowly his tired feet carried his weary body back into the living room and it was with severe moans of pain that he let himself drop into his armchair. The pain in his shoulder and hand had returned earlier that evening and all the time he had been trying to hide it from the wizard. Frodo's thoughts wandered back to the Shire, to Hobbiton, Bag End, Sam and his family. He missed his old life - his life before the Ring War, the time before the Ring Wraths had started to hunt him. But on the other hand he knew, that this was the past and at the same time he knew, that Tol Sîdh was his present and future and that thought was most unsettling.


	4. Chapter 3: Shadows of the past (part 1)

AN: Please forgive the delay in updating. It would have taken me even longer had I not cut this chapter in half – it is a pretty long one. Life has been rather tiring these past few days and I don't expect it to become any better soon. So I (re-)write whenever I have time and am not too tired to do so. I suspect you noticed the lyrics in this chapter. I've fought long and hard with myself whether to use Prof. Tolkien's original poem or the ones Mr Boyd sang in the movie. They're both beautiful and while I was writing this chapter I had that very song in my head pretty much all of the time, so I went with the lyrics used in the movie. Needless to say, that I cannot claim ownership of them as well as to "Into the West" lyrics and music by Fran Walsh, Howard Shore, and Annie Lennox. I needed to use that song. It is one of the pieces I play quite often and it means a lot to me. Plust it fitted the story perfectly just there. ;-)

I also wish to thank my reviewers and those who are reading the story and decide to keep their silence. It is very much appreciated and I feel quite honored. I'm glad you enjoy the story so far.

**Chapter 3: Shadows of the past (1)**

* * *

_"So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them."*_

_My father spoke those words to our good Uncle Samwise a day before he left from the Grey Havens. And whenever he tells me about these bitter moments of departing there are tears not only shimmering in his old eyes but in mine as well. I cannot even begin to imagine what he must have gone through. As long as I knew my father he was a kind and very gentle Hobbit, that bore only very few visible scars (apart of the missing ring finger) of the ordeal that had changed his life forever. I was still a young lass when my father told me about his journey into Mordor and I was not yet aware enough of all the wrongs that mark our existence as to fully comprehend what bearing the One Ring must have done to an innocent soul such as his. Quite often I find myself wondering whether he felt betrayed when he first arrived at Tol Sîdh. After all peace and healing had been promised to him. However what he found throughout the first months of his stay there was only more pain. He never talked about it much – probably he just wanted this to disappear into the shadows of the past. Naneth, on the other hand, once told me that nightmares still plagued him for many, many years after that._

_"There is no evil on this isle, my child. And whatever evil there is will be banished and destroyed. Quite often it is a very painful process to achieve true peace of mind and it has happened that a weaker soul died while trying to do so. But also things often have to get worse so that they can get better and in the end you will look back and you will know that everything that you've accomplished in your life could only happen because of those dark times in the past. They've formed you and made you the person you are. If just the tiniest thing had happened a little differently you might not have turned out to be the one you are. So we should be grateful for everything both good and bad, at least when we're looking back. Maybe we should even be more grateful for the bad things that happen to us for I think that those are harder to come by and thus leave you with a lot more experience in the end. Not all bad things are of evil."_

_Yes, my father was a wise gentlehobbit, if I dare say so, although I have to admit that I only understood many of the things he taught me years after he passed. After all he knew what he was talking about. I seriously doubt that there are too many Hobbits that have seen quite as many dark and painful days as he had._

* * *

Early the next morning Níniël walked up the path leading to Frodo's front door. She was tired as she had walked all the way from Adab Calen where she had spent the previous evening and night with the Lady Nessea. Her bag filled with the necessities of her art that she always carried with her seemed quite a bit heavier than usual. It was a cold morning and she found it difficult to protect herself from the heavily pouring rain. Heavy gray clouds covered the sky high above her and she was chilled to her bones. A feeling of guilt hastened her steps towards the round green door of the other Hobbit's smial. When she had last seen him two days earlier he had been still quite weak from blood loss and the seizure but knowing that Gandalf had paid Frodo a visit the previous night comforted her slightly. Eventually she came to a halt on the threshold and knocked softly against the green paint of the wood and then took a step back as she waited for Frodo to open the door. She expected to hear the faint sound of footsteps any moment but when she had not yet heard anything after a while, she knocked again and softly called the smial's owner's name. Still not getting any sign that someone would open the door Níniël peered through the window next to the front door. There was no sign of life to be seen within the smial. The hallway was quite dark, not a single candle was lit and if she hadn't already done so before, Níniël was now worrying for the hole's sole resident. Left with no other choice she began to walk along the smial's front, climbing over hedges and fences until she eventually found the open kitchen window. As quickly as her tired bones would let her she climbed through the small opening in the wall and by now drenched from both the rain and sweat her feet hit the cool clay tile floor.

Entering the parlor she could make out the top of Frodo's head peaking slightly over the armchair's high back. The Hobbit appeared to be asleep for he gave no sign of recognizing that someone had intruded his home. The fire in the hearth had long diminished and even the ashes seemed to have cooled down already. Slowly, hoping not to startle the apparently sleeping Frodo she approached the armchair and prepared to wake him with a silent greeting. However when her eyes finally fixed on the Hobbit occupying the chair, she paled several shades of white.

"Frodo," Níniël whispered in sheer horror. Frodo's face was ashen and his eyes were fixed on something in a far distance that only he could see. "Frodo," Níniël whispered his name again, a little louder than before, hoping that with the strength of her voice she would somehow be able to get through to him. While his breathing was shallow and quite difficult to detect Níniël felt her own breathing becoming quicker as panic began to take hold of her. The pale skin of his face was too hot to her touch and when she looked down on him she saw two growing dark red spots on the front of his shirt. His hand rested motionless in a pool of blood on his lap, the precious liquid still running freely from where his ring finger once had been. Silently Níniël cursed. She should have seen it coming. The ancient magic of the isle she called home would fend off all evil – even if it was within a poor soul's body. Quickly Níniël tore open the front of Frodo's shirt so that she could examine the wounds left by blade and stinger more closely. Although she had been rather certain that there no longer was any poison within the stab wound, the profound flow of blood she discovered proved her wrong. It wasn't any different with the wound Shelob's stinger had once left on the fragile form of Frodo and thinking quickly, the young Hobbit began to search through her bag and eventually produced a batch of herbs that she quickly crushed in her mortar. Not wasting any more of his precious time she spread the paste over all his wounds none too gently. Once they were covered with clean white cloths, she looked up into Frodo's face and noticed to her great relief that color was slowly returning to the other Hobbit's face. Her sense of relief was rather short lived however, since the red on his cheeks was a result of the fever that was raging through his body. When she became aware of a hardly recognizable movement in his eyes a small smile appeared on her lips. "Frodo?" she whispered again, gently running the back of her hand over his cheek. "Frodo, can you hear me?" There was no response from him other than his eyes slowly wandering towards where her voice had come from. "Good. That's good. Look at me," Níniël encouraged him. "Listen to me, Frodo, please. We have to get you to bed for you cannot be cared for where you are right now. I don't think I possess the strength to carry you to your bed. Do you think you can help me? Just a little?" she pleaded with him, uncertain whether he was in any condition to comprehend her words.

"Can't…" his dry throat would only let a hoarse groan pass his lips, filled with pure agony and something Níniël thought was fear.

"I will help you. Try and lean on me. I only need you to remain upright and move your legs a little. Please, Frodo," she asked softly while she carefully draped his right arm over her shoulders. Another gasp of agony was to be heard when she proceeded to help him to a somewhat upright position and she began to slowly set one foot in front of the other with Frodo following suit. Forever is what it seemed to take them to eventually get to his bedroom and they were both panting for breath heavily when she lowered him onto the soft mattress of his bed. Only then she realized that somewhere along their little journey Frodo had lost consciousness and was once again trapped within his dark memories of days not too long past.

He had begun to give a voice to the shadows tormenting him. He was back in Mordor, a prisoner of orcs all naked and humiliated lying in the middle of a huge dark room. And every once in a while there was this sound, that he couldn't define, but it meant horrible pain for him. The whips, the orcs had used on him.

While Frodo was moving restlessly on his bed caught in the feverish images of his mind, Níniël ran back into the kitchen to get some cold water and clean cloths. She needed to cool down the heat of Frodo's body quickly and since she neither had the herbs at her disposal she needed nor did she have the strength to lower him into a bathtub full of cold water, she had to try and achieve her goal by sponging him down. When she returned to his bedside, she noticed that none of the wounds were bleeding anymore, but the red flush on Frodo's cheeks suggested that his fever had risen with the brief minutes of her absence. Still mumbling incoherently, his eyeballs were moving rapidly behind closed lids. In his dreams, he seemed to be back in the Shire Níniël noticed and the memories seemed to be a little less troubling as he was recalling some of the Hobbits he once was close to and places that had once meant a lot to him. However, Frodo's expression was still painful as he apparently even in his feverish state of mind seemed to know, that he could never see any of their beloved faces again or set foot into places he used to love so much.

"Oh Frodo, how am I supposed to help you all by myself?" Níniël mumbled as she began to strip him of his sweat soaked clothes and then quickly put a cool cloth upon his burning forehead. 'You are not alone, my child,' she suddenly heard a voice coming out of nowhere. Níniël jumped up and scanned the room. No one was there except for her and Frodo. She shook her head and sat down again on the bed. 'Don't be afraid, my child. You can hear me, because I allow you to read my mind,' there it was again the voice – Nessea's voice, as Níniël realized – and this time she was less frightened.

"Naneth, I need help with this hobbit. I don't have all I need with me," she said out loud, although she wasn't sure, whether Nessea could hear her.

'I know, my child. I've already sent the fastest riding Elf who will bring both his strength of body and supplies. He should arrive shortly,' the voice in her head said.

"Thank you, Naneth," Níniël said and then looked down at Frodo again. Although she couldn't understand what had just happened, now was not the time to ponder over it. In that moment Frodo was her only concern and when she felt tears welling up in her eyes, she fought hard to regain her composure. Despair would help neither him nor her. And despair was what once again seemed to have taken hold of Frodo. His lips formed words telling of a nightmare he had lived through only a few years before. Once again he found himself face to face with the Witch-king of Angmar at Weathertop, the place where he had received that almost fatal wound that was now once again forcing him to relive the events of that cursed day. Níniël kept on changing the cloth on his forehead and repeatedly ran another one down his arms, shoulders, and chest until she heard a faint knock on the front door. She went to open the door and outside was Glorfindel, the Elf who had once saved Frodo's life after the attack of the Nazgûl. Not too long after that he had departed Middle Earth never to return as one of many other Elves.

"Greetings, my Lady Níniël Cuilanathûr. The Lady Nessea sends me to bring you these herbs and my help."

"Thank you, Glorfindel," Níniël said tiredly but with a slight smile and stepped aside so that Glorfindel could enter the smial. The tall Elf had to crouch rather low so that he wouldn't bump his head at one of the beams of the ceiling.

"Our good lady has informed me of the dire condition of the Ringbearer. It pained me greatly to hear of his suffering."

"His peril is mortal, I am afraid, Glorfindel. I lack the words to properly thank you and our lady for your quick course of action," Níniël said with a slight bow. "Let us not lose any more precious time, my dear friend. Both the Ringbearer and I require your assistance."

"Then, please, lead the way," Glorfindel said with determination and followed the Hobbit to the ailing Hobbit's bedroom.

Glorfindel went down on his knees next to the bed so that he could get a better look at the Hobbit he had first met so long ago. Níniël was right beside him, rewetting first and then replacing the cloth on Frodo's still burning skin. She moved slightly to pull back the covers to expose Frodo's bare chest and removed the bandages covering his left shoulder. With a frown she turned towards the Elf kneeling next to her on the floor.

"Do you think it is possible for the tiniest shard of the blade which has caused this wound to have remained in his body? Is there even the slightest chance that Lord Elrond might have missed a fragment when he removed the shard these many years ago?" she questioned the Elf, hoping that he could provide some more information.

"Lord Elrond is a most skillful healer and I seriously doubt he would have missed a piece of the blade, no matter how ever small it would be," Glorfindel denied her suspicion. He moved to take one of Frodo's hand in his and closed his eyes for a while. "He was touched by great evil, Níniël, and I am afraid that it still refuses to let him live his remaining days in peace," he whispered suddenly minutes later.

"So it is as I've figured before," Níniël nodded. "It is the isle that is fighting the darkness still lingering within him." With a heavy sigh, she sat down on the bed next to Frodo and buried her face in her hands for a few fleeting moments. "I was so hoping that this battle had already been won two nights ago, Glorfindel. But it appears I was quite mistaken," she said quietly and Glorfindel thought to detect the faintest sign of defeat in her quivering voice.

"All is not lost yet, my precious Níniël. He has you to aid him in his fight and he couldn't hope for anyone more skilled or gifted to have at his side," the Elf smiled at her and gentle stroked her forearm. "Let us begin, my Lady Cuilanathûr…"

The Elf's words were meant to encourage the healer and this they did. With Glorfindel's help she prepared a bath of lukewarm water for Frodo so that she could bring his fever down. After they had taken the unconscious Hobbit back to bed she asked Glorfindel to prepare a special tea to further bring down the fever and generally aid his body on his way to recovery as well as an ointment for Frodo's wounds, that would support his body's ability to heal itself. So while Glorfindel was busy preparing what she had asked him for, Níniël tended to Frodo's wounds and as she did so she found another old wound coming forward once again. The skin around Frodo's neck had turned an angry, inflamed red and thin yet constant flows of blood ran down onto the pillow underneath him and his chest. For a moment Níniël felt a renewed and strengthened fear gripping her heart, but she willed it away, knowing full well, that the unconscious Hobbit needed not her fear or pity, but all her strength so that he could come back from the land of the shadows.

* * *

It took Níniël and Glorfindel three days to lower Frodo's fever. Their and his days consisted of bathing the still Hobbit in cool water to support his body in its fight against the tremendous heat raging through it, tending to the wounds that appeared to be just as angry as on the days they'd been inflicted upon their victim, applying various ointments and as often as possible feeding him medicines that would quite hopefully keep Frodo alive. Níniël hardly ever left his side even when there was nothing to be done. She kept singing quiet songs to him, hoping that their words that spoke of hope and light would reach his soul in all his despair. Glorfindel would spend these hours sitting in an armchair that was quite a bit too small for him, tending the fire in the hearth, all the while listening to Níniël's hushed whispers and songs. One of them caught his attention in particular. It was a soft tune, the notes falling and rising ever so lightly.

_Home is behind. The world ahead._

_And there are many paths to tread._

_Through shadows to the edge of night._

_Until the stars are all alight._

_Mist and shadows, cloud and shade._

_All shall fade. All shall fade._

When the last note faded into the heavy silence of the room, Glorfindel couldn't help but notice that tears were running down the Hobbit healer's pale cheeks. "You should rest, Níniël," he said quietly after a while and got up from his seat to approach her and Frodo's bed. "His nightmares are gone for now as is his fever. You have done everything and there is no use in wasting what little strength you have left while you are waiting for him to return to us."

"I cannot leave him. Not just yet," Níniël declined his heartfelt offer with a firm shake of her head. "He is not yet save, even though he appears to be. I couldn't find one moment of rest knowing that there could be another seizure or his fever coming back again. No, Glorfindel," she gently took the Elf's hand in her own and offered him a weak smile. "I thank you for your help but from this point on I won't need your assistance anymore. You look very tired yourself, my friend, and it is about time you return home." The look on Glorfindel's face was more than just a little surprised, but he knew that in a way she was right. He did feel tired and to pretend otherwise would have been lying to himself.

"Call for our good lady, if there is anything you need," Glorfindel told her, although somewhat reluctantly. "I do not wish to leave you, but I am certain that he," he briefly looked at Frodo's still form on the bed, "is in the best hands imaginable. Fare well, my friend." With it said Glorfindel rose and left the sickroom and shortly afterwards the smial.

For a while Níniël stared at the very spot where Glorfindel had still sat only moments earlier and then redirected her attention to Frodo. Her mind was uncertain whether it was the right choice to send Glorfindel away, but in her heart she knew that now a point in Frodo's healing had come that would best only be witnessed by a fellow Hobbit – no matter how strange a Hobbit it was.

* * *

Another two days passed quite uneventfully and Frodo still had not regained consciousness. A loud knock against the front door woke Níniël who had fallen into a troubled sleep on the very chair that had previously been occupied by Glorfindel. She rose and went to open the door and was quite surprised when she discovered Gandalf waiting on the other side of it. Throughout his journey to meet with the Lady Galadriel he had had no idea of what had been going on with the former Ringbearer in the meantime. Little wonder that he fought hard for the right words to say after Níniël had finished telling him the gruesome tale over a cup of strong tea in the living room. "Do you need help in any way? I know, that I cannot compare my healing powers with yours, but if there's anything, that I can do for you," Gandalf offered, after they had sat in silence for a while.

"Well, there actually is something that you could do for me," Níniël hesitantly began and looked up into the wizard's old face. He nodded his head, encouraging her to go on. "Well, I think I got to know Frodo quite well in these past few weeks, but still I'm finding it hard to grasp his true nature. After all what I've heard and read about Hobbits, no normal Hobbit would have gone on a journey as he did. And he did take the Ring, even though he knew of the dangers already past and still to come. I don't quite understand, why he took all of it upon himself."

"Níniël , why are you here on this isle?" Gandalf chose to reply with a question of his own.

"It was my destiny," she answered without hesitation.

"And it was Frodo's destiny to take the Ring and to destroy it."

"It was not him who destroyed it. A creature by the name of Gollum fell into the fiery depths of Mount Doom as far as I know."

"True. It was Gollum who joined the Ring on its way back where it once came from. However, without Frodo's remarkable spirit and resilience neither the Ring nor Gollum would ever have travelled as far as Mordor – let alone Sammath Naur. Frodo was the only one – and there were many who offered their services – that had the strength of mind to undertake this venture. Without Frodo's courage and power of will none of this would have happened and the Ring never would have been destroyed. As a matter of fact I talked to Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel about Frodo. It is their opinion that the power the Ring still held over him even after its destruction should no longer be within Frodo."

"The previous days would suggest otherwise. What makes them believe so?"

"With the Ring a part of Frodo was destroyed as well."

"His finger."

"Exactly."

"It does not make much sense, though. How would they explain his symptoms then? Surely with all of the Ring's power over him gone, none of what he is going through right now, would be happening," Níniël argued.

"It's not quite that simple, I'm afraid, for there were many other evils that Frodo had to withstand throughout the length of his journey. Those remained with him and it is them who are attempting for one last time to destroy him," Gandalf tried to explain his and the High Elves' musings.

"That helps me to understand the whole ordeal with the Ring, but I think it's a bit too simple to explain his taking the ring with such a simple word as destiny. It couldn't have been that after all he still had a choice."

"You are quite right, my dear, for it was anything but simple. The moment Frodo took the Ring and left his home to take it to Imladris, it cast its spell over him. Frodo wanted nothing more than to be rid of this burden, but he knew it was his to bear."

"I see." Níniël was confused, because she didn't understand everything about the whole story of the One Ring, but when she was truthful to herself she didn't care. Right now her only concern was the unconscious Hobbit in the bedroom. "Excuse me, Gandalf. I need to look after Frodo." She got up from her seat and went to see how Frodo was doing. He was still unconscious when she entered his bed chamber, so she checked on the dressings once more and tried to get him to swallow some of the tea that was supposed to help him heal.

"You're doing a lot for him," suddenly Gandalf's deep voice resonated through the quiet room. Without making a sound he had followed her and was now standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

"Sometimes I doubt whether it is enough," Níniël said quietly with a hint of desperation and sadness in her tired voice. "But I don't know what more to do. It is him who must want to come back to us."

"It's more than enough," Gandalf tried to reassure her with a faint smile. "He looks terrible, though. Even worse than after he and Samwise were rescued from Mount Doom."

"He's been worse," Níniël whispered, softly caressing Frodo's pale cheek.

"I can only imagine. I was hoping he wouldn't have to go through yet another so very painful period ever again in his life," Gandalf said quietly with a hint of guilt in his dark voice.

"You might have known, old friend. It is what the isle does – it brings out all evil and destroys it. Unfortunately it is not always very gentle in doing so."

"Seeing him like this makes me wonder whether it was the right thing to bring him here."

"Tell me, is it better to live on with the pain and sickness of the past instead of attempting to find health, happiness, and peace of mind?"

"Certainly not."

"Now you may ask your question again, in case it hasn't been answered yet," Níniël said with a knowing smile gracing her lips keeping her eyes fixed on the old wizard's face, who didn't answer for there was no answer needed. "So you see, it was good, that you've brought him here," she continued after a few more moments of silence. "Do you wish to stay with him for a little while longer?"

"No. It's hard for me to see him suffer like this. Sometimes I do really have some strange human attitudes," Gandalf sighed and Níniël saw, how he tried to blink away a couple of tears.

"I shall inform you of any changes in his condition," she offered the Istari a tired smile. "he will live through it. You shall see."

"Thank you, Níniël. Nessea was right. You've really become a very wise young lass."

"Well, I think Naneth is a very wise Elf," Níniël smiled. "However, my days of youth are long gone. May peace and light be with you on your way." And with these last words from her, Gandalf left.

Níniël turned to watch Frodo in his sleep and couldn't stop the smile appearing on her lips while she studied his finally peaceful features. The yawn that stretched her mouth wide open took her by surprise and for the first time in all these days she felt all of the accumulated exhaustion wash over her. Promising herself not to fall asleep, she lay down on the bed next to Frodo, determined to simply allow her stiff joints and generally weary body a few moments of rest.

She turned to lay on her side so that she could look at Frodo's face. Resisting the urge to plant a shy kiss on his cheek, she instead once again began to sing a soft tune.

_Lay down your sweet and weary head  
Night is falling  
You have come to journey's end  
Sleep now and dream of the ones who came before  
They are calling from across the distant shore  
Why do you weep?  
What are these tears upon your face?  
Soon you will see all of your fears will pass away  
Safe in my arms  
You're only sleeping_

What can you see on the horizon?  
Why do the white gulls call?  
Across the sea a pale moon rises  
The ships have come to carry you home  
And all will turn to silver glass  
A light on the water all souls pass

Hope fades into the world of night  
Through shadows falling out of memory and time  
Don't say: "We have come now to the end"  
White shores are calling  
You and I will meet again  
And you'll be here in my arms just sleeping

What can you see on the horizon?  
Why do the white gulls call?  
Across the sea a pale moon rises  
The ships have come to carry you home

_And all will turn to silver glass  
A light on the water  
Grey ships pass into the West_

Before she had sung the last few lines her eyes had closed on their own accord and with the last word passing her lips sleep finally claimed her.

* * *

Frodo woke up with a start. Something heavy was lying on his chest. The Ring, the One Ring. It was back. He wanted to shove it away, but then he realized, that it was not the Ring, that gave him slight trouble breathing. Something rather soft, something that felt like silk met the touch of his hand. Slowly he managed to open his eyes and a smile appeared on his cracked and dry lips, when he saw, what or rather who had chosen his chest as a place to rest. Níniël's head rested there comfortably and for some reason Frodo couldn't and didn't want to disturb her in her sleep. His eyes wandered toward the half open window that allowed some of the new morning's fresh air into the room. The sun was just about to come up from behind the horizon and he could hear the sound of birds singing in the distance.

"Níniël?" His voice was hoarse from lack of use and his throat felt too dry. She stirred a little on top of him but didn't wake and instead snuggled a little closer to him. Frodo couldn't help it but had to smile at that. "Níniël?" he repeated, his voice now a little stronger. Frodo could see one of her eyes opening and she seemed quite confused at first, as though she were unaware of the fact, that she had indeed fallen asleep. Suddenly she jumped from the bed and stood by Frodo's side with her mouth wide open.

"You're awake!" she gasped. "You're finally awake!" she repeated, as though she had to convince herself, that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her.

"How long was I unconscious?" Frodo whispered, trying to smile at her, but failed horribly.

"Almost two weeks. How are you feeling?" she asked now laying her hand on his forehead in an attempt to perform a familiar task to get over her initial shock.

"I'm not quite sure yet. I am just very tired. And quite thirsty."

"Why, of course!" Quickly she reached for a cup of water on the nightstand and held it against his dry lips. He drank eagerly, even though she only allowed him small sips. When the cup was eventually empty she put it back and smiled at him. "There, all better now, I suppose." Frodo sighed somewhat relieved and closed his eyes for a brief moment. "I'll let you rest now. There's plenty of time to check on your wounds later."

"NO!" Frodo gasped and his eyes flew wide open. "No. Please, don't leave. I do not wish to sleep. As a matter of fact I'd rather try to leave this bed for a little while. My back feels like it will break if I don't get out of this bed."

"Well, I'm not quite sure whether this is a right good idea... But I suppose you'd try it all by yourself once I'm out of the room and I'd rather you didn't." She frowned for a moment or two but eventually pulled back the covers and helped Frodo to sit up on the bed. After a second's rest she proceeded to help him onto his feet, but Frodo shook his head.

"I should very much like to try for myself," he said and she couldn't quite resist the look in his large blue eyes.

"All right," she agreed hesitantly. "But don't overdo it," she advised and kept her arms reaching out towards him in case he should fall.

* * *

About an hour later, both of them were sitting in the kitchen. Frodo had his first proper meal in weeks and even though Níniël only allowed him food that would go easy on his stomach, he really enjoyed it. Before they had sat down to eat, Níniël had once again checked his wounds and they were both greatly relieved, when they found them much improved.

To his not inconsiderable surprise Frodo had to admit that he actually felt good, after everything he had gone through the previous days and weeks. However, there was one thing that had him worried. Níniël looked extremely pale and exhausted and Frodo couldn't rid himself of the notion, that this was his fault. The very moment he was about to ask her to lie down and get some well deserved rest, a knock on the front door cut him off. Níniël immediately got up from her seat at the kitchen table and went to open the door. It was Gandalf standing outside.

"What a pleasant surprise," Frodo heard Níniël's voice greeting the visitor. "There's someone who wants to see you."

"So he is awake?" Gandalf's voice, Frodo realized with joy.

"That he is. Do come in, my dear friend. Careful with your head," Frodo heard Níniël warn the wizard but a bumping sound proved that her warning had come a bit too late. Gandalf followed Níniël into the kitchen where Frodo was expecting them.

"Why don't you go and make yourselves comfortable in the living room. I'll fetch you some tea," Níniël suggested with a wide smile on her face and hurried to prepare the drink for them.

"That sounds good to me," Gandalf said and smiled down at Frodo. "It's good to see you with your eyes open, my friend."

"It's good to see you too, Gandalf," Frodo said getting up from his seat with some difficulty. They both went to the living room and sat down in front of the fireplace. Shortly after that Níniël brought them two cups of hot tea and returned to the kitchen to clean up after their breakfast, giving Frodo and Gandalf the chance to talk in private. At first they both refused to talk about Frodo's illness, but in the end, Frodo could no longer hold his thoughts back.

"I'm worried about Níniël ," he said staring into the crackling fire.

"Why?" Gandalf asked a little surprised that the Hobbit wouldn't elaborate on his experiences during that dreadful time.

"She looks terrible. I assume these previous two weeks have taken quite a toll on her."

"She's a Hobbit. You know how resilient you are. She will manage."

"You know, sometimes I think, that you still don't know all that much about us. Even a Hobbit can't bear everything. I mean, with her taking care of me I feel responsible and indebted to her."

"But taking care of the sick is her job. That's what she's here for."

"Is that all she is to you? A healer? Have you ever tried to see what lies beyond her proud appearance? I think she's a very sensitive lass, who's expecting more from life, than serving everybody else all life long. I guess you've never seen that little corner in her eyes, that shows that she's missing something," Frodo said, anger evident in his voice, which he found difficult to control. Certainly he wished he could take back those words the very moment they were spoken. One wasn't supposed to put their emotions on a silver plate in such manner.

"And what would that something be?" Gandalf said. He was surprised at how emotional the Hobbit had suddenly become.

"I wish, I knew. It's just that when I look at her, she appears to be like a fish out of the ocean, if you get my point." They kept their silence for a while, since both of them didn't know how to handle this problem; Frodo, because he felt guilty and Gandalf, because he had to admit to himself, that after her departure to Tol Sîdh and their meeting again after fifty-one years a healer was all Níniël had become to him, their shared history somehow erased by the still vivid memories of the previous war. Certainly he had never thought of her as anything but a healer.

Still not quite knowing what to say Frodo got up from his chair. "You know, I haven't smoked my pipe in quite a while. I'll be right back." Frodo went into the kitchen to get his pipe. When he entered he found Níniël asleep, her head resting on the kitchen table. In her hands she still held some herbs and a knife. Silently Frodo returned into the living room. "Gandalf, would you mind lending me a hand?" he whispered. Gandalf nodded and got up from his seat to follow Frodo into the kitchen. When Gandalf saw Níniël's sleeping form he gently removed the herbs and the knife from her hands and lifted her up in her arms and followed Frodo who led the wizard towards his bedroom. Frodo drew back the blankets and motioned for Gandalf to lower Níniël onto it. Then he carefully covered her with the blankets, trying not to disturb her sleep. Quietly they both retrieved from the room and returned into the living room. But Frodo wouldn't sit down.

"Would you mind if we sat down outside. I'd like to catch some fresh air." Gandalf happily agreed and soon both of them were outside, sitting on a bench next to the front door.

"I was really concerned about you, Frodo. Things looked bad for you. Níniël might have saved your life," Gandalf said after what seemed like an almost never ending silence between the two of them.

"She has saved my life, Gandalf. I don't remember a lot of the previous two weeks. But even though I was unconscious, I always knew, that I was not alone. Otherwise, I certainly would have given up. There were so many moments when I thought, that if I'd take one more step towards those shadows that held me, everything would be over at long last. It would have been my death and death would have been quite the relief. But something held me back. I sometimes even thought I heard someone singing one of Bilbo's old songs," he paused and smiled briefly, for a moment lost in his thoughts.

"Was that someone perhaps Níniël?"

"I should think so. We have a lot more in common, than I first thought. We were both robbed of our rightful home and we're both quite alone with our burdens and problems. Neither one of us can rely on anyone to fully understand what it is like to be forced to give up everything that has ever mattered to you. We were both forced into something neither would have chosen willingly."

"Well, I think we should be grateful then, that you have made her acquaintance." Gandalf looked down on his friend with a knowing smile playing on his lips. To him, Frodo looked extremely exhausted and tired. "Don't you think it's time for you to go back inside? I bet if Níniël wakes up and won't find you, she'll alarm the entire isle." Gandalf chuckled and Frodo sighed heavily.

"You're right. It feels good to be outside but I'm afraid it has indeed tired me."

"That's what I thought. Let's go back inside then," Gandalf said and rested his long arm on the Hobbit's small shoulder. "You know, each and every person in Middle Earth owes you a lot. You've saved their lives and their future. They - we - are forever in your debt."

"And still there are so many, whose lives I could not save," Frodo said quietly and together they went back inside.

*J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings – The Return of the King, p. 338, Ballantine Books, New York, 2001


	5. Chapter 4: Shadows of the past (part 2)

AN: Thank you so much for your patience. Life is rather hectic lately and I don't have as much time to write as I would like to have. Besides I have to admit that I was stalling to write this chapter as it was very difficult to write and the next one will be even worse. The majority of this chapter is a rewrite as I didn't like where the original version of it was going. Most of it seemed rather out of character and since I am trying to stay true to the characters of the books as much as possible it took me even longer to come up with this.

Thanks to those who read my little story – there are quite a few out there, which comes as a bit of a surprise. I didn't think that this story would actually interest anyone at all. A huge thank you goes to the few who bothered to leave me a review. You made my day. I'm glad you're enjoying this.

This is a very angsty chapter and as I've said before I found it very difficult to write. Basically stuffing the traumata of three books into one chapter was quite the challenge. Oh, see? Now I'm doing it again. I'm keeping you from reading, for I fear it might not live up to any expectations there probably are. I hope you'll enjoy.

**Chapter 4: Shadows of the past (2)**

* * *

_Our parents were very open minded Hobbits, mind you. By now it is probably known far beyond the borders of the Shire that we Hobbits are not necessarily known for our love of inventions, adventures, and anything new in general. We cherish and love our quiet life and there's very little that we allow to disturb our peace. So it is not a miracle that our parents were always looked at somewhat suspiciously by their neighbors and fellow Hobbitoners, all though there was usually also a look of admiration found in those prying eyes._

_There was very little our parents wouldn't do for us. But there was a rule, never spoken out loud, but it was to be obeyed by all means. There were questions we were not supposed to ask and those mainly concerned the past of our parents. I remember how Amelia once overheard two older Hobbits talking about the Ring War and the involvement of a certain Master Baggins and how he had ended up seemingly more insane (by Hobbit standards) than before the war. The poor girl ran home, arriving at Bag End in tears and quite confused and promptly repeated everything that had been said about her father back at the Green Dragon. The reaction of Adar was … I still have trouble finding a word to describe it properly. All I remember is his face losing all color within a matter of mere moments, a quick look of understanding exchanged between him and Naneth and then he retreated to his study of which he never came out again for the next two days. Naneth had the hardest time to calm my poor sister, explaining everything to her and eventually she asked me to read the Red Book with my little sister, so that she would understand._

_Amelia and I spent the better part of four weeks reading the book and there was a lot of explaining for me to do. However, when she asked me how Naneth and Adar had met I found myself wanting. There was simply no answer I could provide for only then I realized that this was the unspoken rule. Of course we knew that they had met somewhere in the West, beyond the borders of Middle Earth and that was it. We were not supposed to ask about that period of their life for it was quite obviously too painful for them to remember that time._

_A couple of years later I disregarded the rule when Naneth and I were sitting in her small private quarters of her little pharmacy that also sometimes served as a hospital in times of need, sipping some tea after a particularly exhausting day of work. I remember that it was very quiet in the room and I was watching my mother as she was contemplating her own thoughts. She had not yet lost her beauty (and she never would) but some fine lines in her features proved that the days of her youth were in the past. I don't know how or why but in that moment I saw her for who she really was – a hobbit that had endured a lot, that was more often than not insecure and full of fears, that she hid well. I realized that a certain fear had taken hold of her heart a long time before I was even born and it pained me to see that in her. Maybe for a change I wanted it to be me to be there for her and not the other way around as it had always been before._

_"Naneth?" I piped up and she started, as though I had woken her from a slumber._

_"What is it, my dear?" She smiled weakly and tried to hide the yawn by taking a sip from her tea cup._

_"What happened to you and Adar?"_

_"Whatever do you mean, Lilly?" She gave me a genuinely puzzled look, although something in her eyes told me, that she knew quite well what I was talking about._

_"You never told us what happened to him after he departed from Mithlond. We know all about the war, but nothing of … of how father was healed…" I was beginning to regret my forwardness the very moment the words left my mouth. Naneth's look became so very sad, almost mournful as I was forcing memories upon her, she probably rather kept in the farthest corner of her mind. And yet her look also told me, that they were ever present, no matter how much time had passed._

_"I cannot tell you how your father was healed, for he never was," she began slowly and I didn't dare to interrupt her, for I knew that she would probably change her mind and not continue her tale. "How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back. There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep… that have taken hold.*" She paused and smiled the saddest smile that I had ever seen on anyone. "Those are your father's words. There was a time when I thought that he is wrong, but it was also time that taught me that he was quite right, indeed. Even though wounds do heal over time, both those of the body and of the soul, they do leave scars. And where there are scars, there are memories, demons even, that will never truly cease to fight you. I was there when your father's demons were about to destroy him." I saw tears welling up in my mother's eyes as the memories of days long in the past threatened to overwhelm her. "I almost lost whom I love the most in this world, my child. Back then I didn't know it yet that I had already lost my heart to him. However, one thing I knew for certain. If there has ever been anyone worth saving, it was Frodo Baggins."_

* * *

It was still dark outside when Frodo woke early the next morning to the lingering images of a nightmare that he had thought long lost in the past. He had had that very same dream before when he was still at home in the Shire and even though he had at some point written it down, he now found it hard to remember what exactly it was that still frightened him now that wakefulness was finally saving him from the still very vivid and yet blurred image of his incubus. Breathing heavily he tried to vanquish his sleep's demon that was threatening to choke him as he willed his eyelids open to reveal the very first rays of sunlight of another dawning day, entering his bedroom through a tiny gap between the closed curtains. Slowly he propped himself into a sitting position and was startled when he realized that he was not alone in his bed. Frodo turned onto his side, leaning heavily on his right elbow and watched the sleeping form of Níniël next to him. Some of the previous days' exhaustion seemed to have left her; the tension of her body was gone and the expression of her face was quite peaceful.

"Rest," he whispered and was about to lift his hand to remove a stray lock of her hair from her closed eyes when he stopped in his movement, his arm caught hovering inches above her face in midair. "How could I touch you?" Quickly he drew back his hand and made haste to get out of bed and bring some distance between her and him. "I am so sorry," he muttered in a hushed whisper, a strange mixture of panic, fear, and a deep sadness beginning to emanate from somewhere deep within his very core. "It won't happen again, I swear," he told the sleeping lass in his bed and with urgency he dressed and hurried out of the bedroom, away from her – and what he could only describe as her innocence. "Must be the Took blood," he jested half heartedly, making it sound everything but funny.

Without making a sound he wandered down the hall to his study and quickly closed and locked the door behind him and with a sigh let himself fall down into the comfortable chair in front of his desk. Countless books and pieces of parchment were strewn about the room but he saw none of them. With trembling fingers he started to unbutton his shirt, revealing a sight he loathed. Closing his eyes he touched the still quite angry scars on his chest and around his neck shyly, tracing their curves with the tips of his fingers as memories returned of the dreadful days the wounds had been inflicted upon him. His nostrils were once again offended by the foul breath of the Witchking of Angmar as the hilt of his dagger forcefully imbedded itself in his flesh; the cold that had never completely left him returned and took hold of his heart while his hand continued its short travel towards the circular scar Shelob's stinger had left. A paralyzing numbness joined the cold in his heart as his mind was dragged back into the tower of Cirith Ungol. He felt the leather straps of the orcs' whips slashing against his skin which burst open by the sheer force of their impact. The excruciating pain was still as vivid as on the day all of it had happened as well as the feeling of the warmth of his blood as it was seeping out of the various wounds and slowly running down the length of his bare back. Death. It was all that he wished for, now deprived of Sam and his loving care and support on the quest that he had failed to accomplish. The Ring was back in the hands of the one who had once forged it and Middle Earth and every single soul living were doomed. And it was all his fault.

Suddenly his fear of the orcs' lashes turned into anticipation – he began to feel that he deserved everything they were doing to him, no matter how brutal or painful. Relishing the immense pain, the images of Cirith Ungol began to fade and he found himself standing within the sulfuric heat of Amon Amarth, Mount Doom, finally succumbing to the powers of the Ring. The sudden bliss after fighting against its calling for so long burdened and lightened his tormented soul equally until it was once again taken from him by the unexpected onslaught of the one creature he despised the most. Gollum. The creature, once a Hobbit himself could not see him for the Ring was protecting him from anyone's sight – yet the Ring betrayed him, for it drew the creature towards itself, thusly disclosing the location of its current bearer. Frodo found himself gasping for breath as Gollum's thin fingers entwined around his neck, chocking him in hopes of getting his Precious back. But Frodo wouldn't succumb, not to this foul, weak thing. But luck was on the creature's side as it found the invisible hand and brushed the cool gold of the Ring ever so lightly with his own. Desire overcame rationality and he bit off the thieving limb, its former owner sank to his knees in pain, oblivious of the madly dancing creature behind him and its deathly fall into the abyss of Mount Doom.

As the bond between him and the Ring broke only mere moments later, a feeling of relief wanted to engulf him but was almost immediately replaced by one of guilt. He had failed. He had failed Bilbo, Sam, Gandalf, Aragorn, and all he loved so dearly as well as everyone else living in Middle Earth. The fact that the Ring was destroyed was no consolation. The guilt of his failure tainted him, and the scars and wounds he wore were well deserved. His innocence was gone, his soul tormented, his heart empty.

Then, suddenly, he was quite alone as the dream once again returned.

_I walked by the sea, and there came to me,  
as a star-beam on the wet sand,_  
_a white shell like a sea-bell;_  
_trembling it lay in my wet hand._  
_In my fingers shaken I heard waken_  
_a ding within, by a harbour bar_  
_a buoy swinging, a call ringing_  
_over endless seas, faint now and far._

_Then I saw a boat silently float_  
_On the night-tide, empty and grey._  
_'It is later than late! Why do we wait?'_  
_I leapt in and cried: 'Bear me away!'_

_It bore me away, wetted with spray,_  
_wrapped in a mist, wound in a sleep,_  
_to a forgotten strand in a strange land._  
_In the twilight beyond the deep_  
_I heard a sea-bell swing in the swell,_  
_dinging, dinging, and the breakers roar_  
_on the hidden teeth of a perilous reef;_  
_and at last I came to a long shore._  
_White it glimmered, and the sea simmered_  
_with star-mirrors in a silver net;_  
_cliffs of stone pale as ruel-bone_  
_in the moon-foam were gleaming wet._  
_Glittering sand slid through my hand,_  
_Dust of pearl and jewel-grist,_  
_Trumpets of opal, roses of coral,_  
_Flutes of green and amethyst._

_But under cliff-eaves there were glooming caves,_  
_weed-curtained, dark and grey'_  
_a cold air stirred in my hair,_  
_and the light waned, as I hurried away._

_Down from a hill ran a green rill;_  
_its water I drank to my heart's ease._  
_Up its fountain-stair to a country fair_  
_of ever-eve I came, far from the seas,_  
_climbing into meadows of fluttering shadows;_  
_flowers lay there like fallen stars,_  
_and on a blue pool, glassy and cool,_  
_like floating moons the nenuphars._  
_Alders were sleeping, and willows weeping_  
_by a slow river of rippling weeds;_  
_gladdon-swords guarded the fords,_  
_and green spears, and arrow-reeds._

_There was echo of song all the evening long_  
_down in the valley, many a thing_  
_running to and fro: hares white as snow,_  
_voles out of holes; moths on the wing_  
_with lantern-eyes; in quiet surprise_  
_brocks were staring out of dark doors._  
_I heard dancing there, music in the air,_  
_feet going quick on the green floors._  
_But wherever I came it was ever the same:_  
_the feet fled, and all was still;_  
_never a greeting, only the fleeting_  
_pipes, voices, horns on the hill._

_Of river-leaves and the rush-sheaves_  
_I made me a mantle of jewel-green,_  
_a tall wand to hold, and a flag of gold;_  
_my eyes shone like the star-sheen._  
_With flowers crowned I stood on a mound,_  
_and shrill as a call at cock-crow_

_proudly I cried: 'Why do you hide?_  
_Why do none speak, wherever I go?_  
_Here now I stand, king of this land,_  
_with gladdon-sword and reed-mace._  
_Answer my call! Come forth all!_  
_Speak to me words! Show me a face!'_

_Black came a cloud as a night-shroud._  
_Like a dark mole groping I went,_  
_to the ground falling, on my hands crawling_  
_with eyes blind and my back bent._  
_I crept to a wood: silent it stood_  
_in its dead leaves; bare were its boughs._  
_There must I sit, wandering in wit,_  
_while owls snored in their hollow house._  
_For a year and a day there must I stay:_  
_beetles were tapping in the rotten trees,_  
_spiders were weaving, in the mould heaving_  
_puffballs loomed about my knees._

_At last there came light in my long night,_  
_and I saw my hair hanging grey._  
_'Bent though I be, I must find the sea!_  
_I have lost myself, and I know not the way,_  
_but let me be gone!' Then I stumbled on;_  
_like a hunting bat shadow was over me;_  
_in my ears dinned a withering wind,_  
_and with ragged briars I tried to cover me._  
_My hands were torn and my knees worn,_  
_and years were heavy upon my back,_  
_when the rain in my face took a salt taste,_  
_and I smelled the smell of sea-wrack._

_Birds came sailing, mewing, wailing;_  
_I heard voices in cold caves,_  
_seals barking, and rocks snarling,_  
_and in spout-holes the gulping of waves._  
_Winter came fast; into a mist I passed,_  
_to land's end my years I bore;_  
_Snow was in the air, ice in my hair,_  
_darkness was lying on the last shore._

_There still afloat waited the boat,_  
_in the tide lifting, its prow tossing._  
_Weary I lay, as it bore me away,_  
_the waves climbing, the seas crossing,_  
_passing old hulls clustered with gulls_  
_and great ships laden with light,_  
_coming to haven, dark as a raven,_  
_silent as snow, deep in the night._

_Houses were shuttered, wind round them muttered,_  
_roads were empty. I sat by a door,_  
_and where drizzling rain poured down a drain_  
_I cast away all that I bore:_  
_in my clutching hand some grains of sand,_  
_and a sea-shell silent and dead._  
_Never will my ear that bell hear,_  
_never my feet that shore tread,_  
_never again, as in sad lane,_  
_in blind alley and in long street_  
_ragged I walk. To myself I talk;_  
_for still they speak not, men that I meet.**_

* * *

It was late afternoon when an unpleasant tickling sensation on her nose roused Níniël from her slumber. A fly had settled there and she waved the offending insect away. Drowsily she rose and rubbed her eyes in an attempt to clear away the last cobwebs of a very deep and dreamless sleep. As wakefulness finally claimed her she sighed and silently scolded herself for sleeping so long. Frodo was still on the mend and could easily suffer a relapse and both of those certainties didn't allow such neglect of her obligations towards her patient. Straightening her clothes she went to a basin next to the wardrobe and quickly splashed her face before she left the bedroom in order to find Frodo. A loud rumbling of her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since the previous night and so she hurried through the west hall and the atrium into the kitchen to grab an apple before she would continue her search for Frodo. With her mind solely occupied with thoughts of him and his wellbeing, she had to stifle a high pitched yelp of surprise when she discovered Gandalf sitting at the kitchen table, smoking his pipe and sipping some tea.

"Good afternoon," he smiled at her and couldn't help but had to grin when he saw that her cheeks were slightly flushed from her short sprint. "Why in such a hurry?"

"Where is Frodo?" she exclaimed, ignoring his friendly greeting and obvious amusement. "Is he all right?"

"Oh quite so, my dear. He was an early riser today and spent most of the day in his study, where you will find him now as well, I suppose," the wizard still smiled at her. "Why don't you sit down and join me for some tea. There are some biscuits as well and they are quite tasty. You look famished." Without awaiting her approval he poured her a cup of tea and motioned for her to sit down.

"There's no time, Gandalf. I must check on Frodo. I really shouldn't have slept that long," she cried and was about to hurry out of the kitchen when Gandalf gently grabbed her by her arm.

"There was no harm done, my dear and your body craved for rest. Why else do you suppose you fell asleep at the table while chopping herbs?" he reprimanded her somewhat sternly but with the ever present twinkle in his eyes still there. "Sit, eat. You will need your strength. Don't worry about Frodo. He has eaten his luncheon and then retreated to his study, where he is busy writing, I think." The old wizard gave her an encouraging smile and with a heavy sigh Níniël sat down. "There. That's better."

"I am still quite worried for him, though," she sighed after she had taken a sip from her tea. "Even though his wounds should heal nicely now, there are still those even I cannot heal," she continued sadly, avoiding the wizard's eyes.

"Unfortunately you are quite right there, my dear Níniël. But I do believe that you are mistaken where it comes to your own worth in Frodo's healing," Gandalf said thoughtfully.

"Why? I have done everything I can. There's nothing left for me to do, except perhaps to ease some minor discomforts he might still suffer," she argued and finally looked up into his eyes.

"With Bilbo gone, there is no one here on this isle that I think he would consider more trustworthy than you. I'm afraid I've lost the privilege of his faith in me."

"Why? He has known you for a very, very long time and he has told me how desperate he was after he witnessed your fall in Moria."

"Ah, but the Ring had not yet consumed him so completely back then. I think in a way he blames me for everything he had to endure and I'm afraid that Frodo will tell me just that, rather sooner than later," Gandalf explained, his expression sad.

"And why would he do that? He does not seem to be the kind of Hobbit that lays fault on someone else."

"He spoke very little when we ate earlier today. I asked him whether he was alright, whether he wanted me to rouse you so that you could tend to his injuries, but he declined. Frodo claimed that he felt much better, that to his own surprise the wounds were indeed almost healed," Gandalf told never taking his eyes of the Hobbit sitting at the other side of the table.

"I'm glad he feels better," Níniël said. "I would just very much like to see for myself," she continued with a sigh, stirring some more sugar into her tea.

"Frodo is very grateful for what you did for him," Gandalf said after a while of heavy silence and attempted a reassuring smile.

"I only did what I would have done for everyone in need of healing. After all it is what I do," she waved the words of praise away, nearly knocking her teacup over as she did so. Gandalf smiled.

"Oh, I'm not certain that this is quite true. You have done a lot more seeing how you attempted to take away his emotional distress as well when you listened to his story," Gandalf contradicted her.

"Nonsense. It is what any healer would have done if it were in the patient's best interest," Níniël argued and inwardly cursed herself when she felt her cheeks blushing.

"Not to a point of absolute exhaustion. There is no shame in this, Níniël. I don't think that Lady Nessea's only reason for assigning you to his care was that you are without a doubt one of the best healers. She, too, has her ways to look into a person's soul."

Níniël was at a loss for words. She didn't know how to respond to this and instead of furthermore subjecting her by now highly blushed cheeks to the Wizard's stare, she rose from the table quickly turning away from him. "I will go and check on him. I should be back shortly. If you so wish, you can stay for dinner and for another night as well."

"There is no need for that," Frodo's voice was suddenly to be heard and a startled Hobbit as well as a startled Wizard both turned their heads to find him standing in the doorway. "Good afternoon," he greeted Níniël without looking at her. "I see you have finally woken."

"I am so sorry, Frodo. I shouldn't have slept that long," Níniël immediately apologized. "If you don't mind I would very much like to take a look at your wounds," she asked somewhat nervously and was relieved when Frodo nodded his agreement. "All right then, I shall wait for you in the bedroom. I need to prepare a few things first. If you would excuse me," she nodded at Gandalf first then at Frodo and quickly hurried past him out of the kitchen.

"You shouldn't do that, you know," Frodo said as he walked up to the kitchen table and eventually sat down.

"Do what?" Gandalf asked innocently as he watched his friend. Frodo was pale and dark circles had appeared under his eyes. It was quite obvious that whatever he had done in his study had exhausted him.

"Embarrass her like that," Frodo said with barely concealed anger in his voice.

"Oh, but that was not my intention at all, my dear Hobbit. I simply told her what I've seen and I'm profoundly sorry if the truth is such an embarrassing thing."

"It is sometimes. And that is why it shouldn't be thrown into someone's face like that when that is the case," Frodo retorted, finding it difficult to keep his voice down.

"Why are you so annoyed?" Gandalf inquired with his eyebrow raised.

"I am annoyed because you keep acting as though all the wisdom of the Valar has been bestowed upon you. She's been nice and very kind to both of us and you're treating her like a child that is unable to see the most obvious of things."

"That might be, because the first time I saw her, she was but a baby," Gandalf somewhat half heartedly attempted to defend himself.

"Well, she's not anymore."

"Yes, you're quite right. She has indeed become a very powerful healer as well as a fully grown Hobbit," Gandalf agreed and for a moment he looked down on the table. "You look pale my friend. Are you unwell?"

"I don't know," Frodo admitted with a sigh and poured himself a cup of tea with trembling hands.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"That I don't know. I've spent the day trying to figure a few things out," Frodo said, anger flicking up in his voice again.

"May I inquire what those things were," Gandalf queried, knowing full well that the question was testing Frodo's patience.

"NO! You may not!" Frodo shouted and instantly jumped up from his seat, knocking his teacup over. "Who do you think you are, anyway? I am so tired of your constant meddling with my life. Why can't you just for once leave me be? I have done everything you wanted me to do and it has left me with nothing. My life as I knew it, my plans for the future – they have all been taken away from me, thanks to you. I am a lifetime away from everything and everyone I once loved. The one person I had that was the closest of a family I've ever had is gone forever and while I was promised peace and healing, all I've found here so far is more pain. I won't have any of this anymore, Gandalf. I am done with you and all of this. Just leave me alone." Frodo shouted these last few words into the stunned Wizard's face and angrily wiped tears of utter distress from his pale cheeks. "Go. Leave. Don't come back," he added more quietly and then ran out of the kitchen.

Gandalf just sat there, trying to comprehend everything he had just been accused of.

"He didn't mean it," Níniël's soft voice broke through his reverie as she returned to the kitchen.

"I am afraid, he did and what is even worse, he might be right," Gandalf sighed, avoiding to look at the Hobbit.

"It was his grief speaking. He does love you, Gandalf and there will be a time when he remembers it," Níniël said softly placing a comforting hand on the Wizard's slumped shoulders.

"I do hope so, my dear," Gandalf whispered and then looked at her with a troubled smile on his lips. "However, I think it is best to leave now. I trust my being here will not contribute to his healing," he said and rose.

"I will find you once his anger and pain are subsided. I promised you that," Níniël tried to console the Wizard.

"Thank you, my dear child. I find it hard to believe that the crying bundle I held in my arms not so very long ago has grown into the lass standing before me."

"Better believe it," she smiled and then ushered him towards the front door. "Now go. I will come and find you soon. Be well, my friend." Without another word Gandalf stepped through the large round green door and disappeared into the falling night. Níniël closed the door and then headed for the study. She couldn't be sure what was expecting her there or in what mood she would find Frodo. So she walked as quietly as only Hobbits could and when she finally reached the closed door of the study she knocked softly against it.

"Come in," she heard his muffled reply and tried to calm herself a little before she proceeded to open the door.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly as she stepped into the mess that was his study. He was sitting at his desk, reading in a large red book.

"Yes," he answered shortly without looking up from his book.

"You shouldn't be so angry with Gandalf. He is blaming himself for everything you had to endure and I'm certain that in a way he even regrets sending you through the door of Bag End on the first day of your journey," she tried to reason with him, but he still ignored her. Taking in a deep breath she continued after a while of heavy silence. "May I take a look at your wounds? You seem better, but you are rather pale.

"Leave me alone."

"If that is your wish. Do you want to eat? I could bring you something here," she offered.

"No. Haven't I told you to leave me alone?" Frodo said anger evident in his voice.

"Of course," Níniël said silently and turned to leave.

"Wait," Frodo suddenly demanded and Níniël turned to look at him. He got up from his chair and made a few steps towards her, his expression filled with an unreadable mixture of emotions, while his voice remained cold. "I think you should leave. Thanks for everything."

"You want me to leave?" Níniël couldn't believe what she had just heard. "Why?"

"Your work here is done. Now go. And don't come back," Frodo said silently, his voice almost betraying his words. He didn't want her to leave but he couldn't stand the thought of her presence either. Níniël lowered her head, pain and disappointment evident on her delicate face as she slowly nodded.

"You know where to find me, in case you should need me," she whispered, trying hard to fight back the tears that began to well up in her eyes.

"I won't need you anymore. Farewell." Frodo sat down again and pretended to continue his reading, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for her to leave.

Níniël stood frozen to the spot in the middle of his study still looking at the now vacant space where Frodo had stood only seconds before. Then she left, silently closing the door behind her. Slowly she walked to the closet in the hall and got her cape and bag out that contained most of her belongings. For one more last time she let her eyes wander through the entrance hall and when she could no longer bear it, she sneaked out through the door, closing it ever so quietly behind her.

* Quote from the movie "The Lord of the Rings – The Return of the King" – Even though this quote is nowhere to be found in the books, I had to use it in my story as I felt that it describes Frodo's despair and pain quite sufficiently. I love this quote and I remember that this was the point in the movie when I started crying all over again for the third time while watching it for the first time.

**J.R.R. Tolkien: "The Sea-Bell or Frodo's Dreme" as found in "Tales from the Perilous Realm" – I considered writing my own summary of this enchanting poem and found that I couldn't. What I came up with destroyed the mystery and the magic of it and so I decided to put the original poem into this story.


	6. Chapter 5: Shadows of the past (part 3)

AN: Since I'm having some major formatting problems the small tidbits from the "author's" POV of this story at the beginning of some of the chapters will be in italics from now on. I will edit previous chapters in the same way soon.

A heartfelt thank you goes to my reviewers daddys number 1 girl, will zona, and Ilse. They are very much appreciated.

astudyinwhy: I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Niniel will indeed come back, but I suppose that wasn't difficult to figure out. ;-) I love your nickname, by the way.

A special thanks goes to FairyTaleLover6. I enjoy our "conversation" a lot and whether you realize it or not, you're giving me a lot of encouragement to continue with this story.

So far this was the most difficult chapter to revise. It is - as a matter of fact - a complete rewrite and hopefully better than the original version. This chapter is even darker than the previous one with some high Frodo angst. So be warned. ;-)

Please leave a review if you enjoy this chapter. It only takes a minute and very likely it will make my day. ;-)

LadyInBlack

**Chapter Fife: Shadows of the past part 3**

* * *

_The silence in the small room of Naneth's pharmacy was deafening when she finally paused with the telling of her tale. I was shocked to hear all of it and the look on my mother's face bore evidence that the worst was yet to come. She looked tired and worn as it was and I was reluctant to urge her to continue telling me about father's time of healing on that strange island. _

_"__He was hurting," Naneth whispered and I looked up at her and studied her features. "With the Ring gone and the wounds finally healed he felt as though he had lost all purpose in his life. I knew then that Gandalf was indeed right when he suggested that there was more between your father and me than what was considered normal for a patient and his healer. I was heartbroken when he threw me out of his life that night." Her eyes were glassy from unshed tears and I wanted to reach out and comfort her, but something in her stature told me, that she needed to relive this memory on her own._

_"__What happened then?" I asked in a very quiet voice, uncertain whether my query was appropriate. To my utter surprise Naneth smiled weakly._

_"__Nothing at first. I didn't speak to your father for the next six months. He would allow no one to talk to him or even visit him, except for the weekly deliveries of groceries and other necessities provided by the Elves residing on Tol Sîdh. Sometimes Glorfindel would take that task upon himself and he'd visit me after accomplishing it. However what he told me about your father's state of mind and general health troubled me deeply. There wasn't much Glorfindel could tell me, for Frodo never said a word to him, but from what I gathered your father had given up any hope and was waiting for one final blessing to come and claim him." Naneth's voice faltered and tears ran down her cheeks as she recalled that specific time of her life. _

_"__His death," I concluded and my suspicion was confirmed with a hardly visible nod._

_"__Sometimes I saw him when I passed by his smial, as he sat on a bench in his garden, his eyes staring into nothingness. And every time he realized that I was there, considering to approach him, he rose and went inside, closing the door firmly behind him and thus effectively shutting me out of his life. So I would continue on my way to wherever I was headed, my soul burdened heavily with grief and sorrow for him. He was slowly decaying, my child and I was certain that I would lose him to the shadows after all."_

_"__I thought the island was supposed to bring healing to those that suffer? I think it is quite understandable why father might have felt betrayed. After all you've told me his torments were only heightened by the magic of the island," I argued, suddenly feeling very sorry for my father. It was hard for me to understand, why such an extraordinary Hobbit – as he without a doubt was – would have to endure so much. My love for him made me feel all his pain to some extent and I was admiring him for I don't remember a single occasion when he had shown it in front of his children._

_"__Remember your father's words. There are some hurts that go too deep … that have taken hold. Your father was no longer the Hobbit he used to be before the Ring came to him. At Elrond's council he had offered to take the Ring to Mordor of his free will. But you know how Hobbits are. After the destruction of the Ring your father was thought of as a hero in all of Middle Earth – but not so in the Shire. Everything your father had done was most uncommon for a Hobbit and so were the adventures of his beloved 'Uncle' Bilbo so many years before him. In a way such strangeness was expected from a Baggins, but the Shire-folk simply couldn't comprehend that a single Hobbit was able to change the course of the future for all of Middle Earth."_

_"__That is not fair," I pouted much like a small child and that made Naneth laugh._

_"__It is not," she grinned but her face became serious again rather quickly. "Your father felt estranged from his own kind. Of course there had always been talk about him because he looked quite different…"_

_"__Too thin, those blue eyes…," I nodded. "I've heard much of their talk throughout my years," I sighed and allowed myself a small smile as I tried to impersonate some of the hushed whispers about my father. "Too thin he is, that Master Baggins. It's not healthy for a proper gentle Hobbit. And those eyes, mind you, they're not natural. Reminds me of that Elves-folk old Bilbo Baggins used to talk about."_

_"__They're still talking about him in such a way?" Naneth was surprised and shook her head in mild amusement. I decided that it would be rather wise not to tell her, that there was actually similar talk about Master Baggins's wife – except for the blue eyes of course._

_"__It is to be expected. He is a rather unusual Hobbit – in a very good way," I smiled._

_"__Sometimes I wonder who it really was that gave your father peace of mind," Naneth smiled at me and for a brief moment cupped my cheek softly with her hand. "I wouldn't be surprised if you and your siblings were the ones that brought him just that."_

_"__No," I disagreed, even though I felt quite flattered by my mother's compliment._

_"__Whatever do you mean, my sweet? Your father loves you more than anything in this world," Naneth was confused and raised her right eyebrow._

_"__He loves us unconditionally, that is quite true, Naneth. But you are the one he loves the most and gave him back his peace of mind. Every year on the anniversary of the destruction of the Ring or on the anniversary of Weathertop he keeps his distance from everybody, even from us. You are the only one he will allow to see him, to be near him."_

_Once again silence filled the room as we both stared into the flickering light of the flames in the hearth. _

_"__Well, I think it is time that you hear the rest of this so far untold story," Naneth's voice was quivering as she inwardly seemed to prepare herself for what she was about to tell me. "Six months is a very long time to be separated from one you've come to deeply care about. Frodo was very special to me and I suppose that's why it hurt even worse. But not as much as he was hurting, though…"_

* * *

~* SIX MONTHS LATER - LATE AUGUST, 1422 S.R. *~

It was with a heavy heart that Glorfindel drove his wagon towards the Ringbearer's smial. He considered it an honor to provide the Perian with food and pipeweed and other things the small hero needed for his everyday life, but the Elf was quite anxious of the state he might find the Halfling in. Glorfindel had not seen Frodo for almost a month for he had been away on an errand of great urgency for the Queen. However when he had last seen the Ringbearer he had debated long and hard with himself whether to tell a certain healer about the condition of her fellow Perian or not. Glorfindel remembered the shock of seeing the Perian as though it were but a fortnight ago that he had last seen him. That little one's appearance was nothing like what it used to be. He had become extremely thin to a point where the Elf was wondering whether the Perian actually ate any of the food that was delivered to him once a week. His skin was pale, and it seemed as though one could see right through it. Dark rings underneath his eyes disgraced the blue depths that were once filled with determination, gentleness, and a wisdom that had come upon the bearer of the One Ring long before he could have achieved it with the accumulation of years.

Eventually Glorfindel stopped the wagon in front of the front gate and swiftly jumped down. He gently caressed the horse's nose as he walked by and then towards the green round door that would hopefully ease some of his fears as soon as it would be opened by the home's owner. The Elf knocked softly against the painted wood and tried to wait patiently. When he was starting to worry for the Perian's well-being he heard tired footsteps approaching the door and shortly afterwards it was finally opened.

"Mae govannen, Iorhael," Glorfindel addressed the Hobbit respectfully and bowed slightly, in a desperate attempt to conceal his initial shock of Frodo's appearance.

"Glorfindel," Frodo's hardly audible voice acknowledged accompanied by a weak smile. He cleared his throat, apparently somewhat irritated by the sound that had just left his lips. "Mae govannen," he added quickly and more clearly now. "It is good to see you, although it is hard to believe that already another week has passed since the last delivery," the Hobbit attempted to start a somewhat innocuous conversation. "Would you care for a cup of tea?" Even though he didn't wish for any company at all, his upbringing demanded at least some sort of hospitality and he silently cursed himself for even asking.

"A very kind offer which I unfortunately must decline. My presence is required elsewhere shortly and I'm afraid I must leave as soon as the wagon will be unloaded," Glorfindel said not unkindly and returned the Hobbit's smile with one of his own.

"Then let me help you unload the wagon. I don't wish to keep you longer than necessary."

"That is very kind of you, indeed, but there is no need. You seem busy," he briefly looked at Frodo's right hand and his ink stained fingers. "I see you were writing again. So why don't you go back to your study and I shall inform you once the supplies in your pantry will be replenished."

"Very well then," Frodo nodded and took a few steps back into the entrance hall. "I will be in my study." With that he turned and quickly retreated into the depths of his smial. Glorfindel proceeded to unload the wagon hurriedly and carried the crates towards the pantry as quickly as the low ceilings would allow him to. He gasped in shocked surprise when he saw, that hardly anything of the previous week's supplies was missing. The shelves were full and bending underneath the heavy weight of the various supplies placed upon them and the Elf had some difficulty to find enough room for the crates that he had brought with him.

It was only ten minutes later that he was finished and sought out Frodo in his study. He found the Hobbit sitting at his desk with his thoughts apparently lost as he flipped through the pages of a small stack of parchments in front of him.

"I shall take my leave now, Iorhael," Glorfindel said in his melodious voice, trying not to startle the Hobbit too much. But Frodo hardly even flinched.

"Thank you, my friend," Frodo turned slowly on his chair to face the Elf. "I'd appreciate it if you could express my gratitude to the Lady Nessea."

"Of course. I shall do so as soon as I see her. Farewell," Glorfindel bowed slightly and with a last worried look on the Perian closed the door quietly behind him.

Frodo let out a sigh of relief. He was glad Glorfindel was gone, even though he liked the Elf well enough. His survival had once depended on him at a time, when thought that his life would still be worth living – in a time before it all happened, before he failed, before he was consumed by darkness.

Leaning back in his chair Frodo closed his eyes and tried to remember the good times in his life. Images of his parents appeared in front of his inner eye as he saw himself as a wee lad running laughing and without a care in this world through the lush green meadows of the Shire. His father would try and catch him and of course would fail miserably in attempting so while his mother sat on a blanket underneath one of the many ancient oak trees watching them with her heart and eyes full of love for the two most important Hobbits in her life. And although Frodo had been naught but a small child he knew that Drogo could have easily caught up with him, but refused to spoil the fun for his only son. Eventually Frodo would slow down and allow his father to catch him and pick him up to take him to the picnic blanket where Primula was waiting for them. With ease the older Hobbit would place his son in his mother's lap and Frodo would snuggle up to her his hands entangled in her brown locks that had exactly the same color as his own.

Then the images changed. His parents were still there and Frodo saw himself again as a child, just a few years older and he was standing by the Brandywine River. There was a boat turned upside down and he saw his parents as they both desperately fought against the water that was about to claim their life. He screamed at the top of his lungs, but no sound came from his mouth as he was forced to watch his parents meet their untimely death. Time passed too slowly for help to come and way too quickly for the two Hobbits in the water fighting a battle that they were doomed to lose. Nothing but a cold emptiness was left in the child's heart and a pain that he knew even back then would never go away. It was his first glimpse at the brutal reality that was life – even in a land as peaceful as the Shire.

Frodo took a deep breath in and opened his eyes. Tears had welled up in them and he wasn't sure whether he should allow them to pass his lids or not. There were no words to describe the grief he felt and yet in a way he knew he deserved that very kind of pain now that the physical reminders of his guilt were gone thanks to Níniël.

Níniël.

A smile began to form on his lips but he quickly forbade himself to let it blossom. For six months he had not seen her and he knew that it was for the best. She certainly would try to stop him to go through with his plan and most certainly she would try to show him why his life was still worth living, why he was not laden with a guilt whose nature and extent she couldn't possibly understand. With the memory of her the memory of the night he had driven her away returned. Not only had he closed his doors to her but also to one whom he loved dearly with all of his heart.

Frodo just couldn't understand how Gandalf could not see the guilt that he carried when his missing finger was such obvious evidence. No, he wasn't blaming the Istari for what had happened to him, for he knew that Gandalf had never wished for events to turn out quite the way they had. Despite his wisdom the Wizard had put his trust in him and Frodo had failed him by the simple act of claiming the Ring as his own. In that very moment everything could have been lost had it not been for that dreadful creature that inadvertently saved all of Middle Earth with its own demise. Indeed. Gollum was the true hero, not him – Frodo Baggins.

He was the failure. He was the one they had placed their trust in. He was the one that had failed them. And all that was left for him to do now was to fade into the shadows, where he belonged.

* * *

Despite the odd cold for an August summer day Níniël was sweating. She was weeding her herb garden and had been doing so all morning. For once there were no patients that needed her attention and she used the unexpected free time to catch up on her gardening, that she had been forced to neglect for too long a time. Kneeling in the dirt she gently caressed the purple blossoms of her huge lavender bush. Inhaling the heady scent of the herb deeply she closed her eyes for a moment of utter bliss.

To her surprise she saw a wagon approaching her smial when she opened her eyes again. Getting up from her kneeling position she went to the front gate to wait for the unexpected visitor to arrive. From the short distance she could make out the white billowing robes of Gandalf as he expertly steered the horse towards the healer's home.

"Good day to you, Níniël," he greeted her with a smile as he brought the horse to a halt.

"And to you, my friend. How are you?" she returned his smile and put her spade aside.

"As fine as an old wizard can be, I suppose," he grinned and got down from the wagon. "It is good to see you, my dear Níniël. I hope life has treated you kindly?"

"You won't hear me complaining," she said with a weak smile that indicated there was something troubling her, despite her words to the contrary. "Would you care to join me for a cup of tea?"

"What a delightful idea. It is a bit cool today," Gandalf said and followed the Hobbit inside and into her kitchen. Sitting down on the bench at the kitchen table he watched her as she poured water into a waiting tea pot, then placed some freshly baked cookies on the table and eventually joined him. "How come I've never been to your home before?" he said thoughtfully, deeply inhaling the scent of herbs that were hung to dry everywhere in the kitchen.

"There was no time yet, I suppose," she offered and poured two cups of tea. They sat in silence for a while and while they were sipping their tea, Gandalf hardly ever took his eyes of the Hobbit sitting in front of him.

"Frodo was right," he said thoughtfully after what seemed like an eternity and a startled Níniël looked up at him.

"About what?"

"You're not a child anymore. I do owe you an apology. I suppose I never quite lost the image of that so persistently crying bundle in my arms on my way to Imladris."

"There's no need for an apology Gandalf."

"I met Glorfindel on my way here…" Gandalf said at length, changing the subject to one he knew had been bothering her. Immediately all her attention was fixed on him. "He saw Frodo this morning."

"How is he?" Níniël queried desperately, anxiety for news on the only other Hobbit on the island written all over her face.

"He is not well, as was to be expected. There was not much for Glorfindel to tell for Frodo obviously wasn't too keen on having company."

"That's what I've heard, too. Some of the other Elves that deliver his supplies came to talk to me about him. After the first couple of times I tried to visit him, but he refused to see me, pretended that he wasn't at home whenever I knocked on his door," Níniël said sadly.

"Glorfindel advised with great urgency that you go and see him. Apparently he is neither eating nor sleeping," Gandalf continued, worry etched into his features.

"Don't you think that I would all ready be there if he would see me?" Níniël jumped up from her seat and began to pace the kitchen. She hardly ever lost her temper, but when she did it was usually caused by some major frustration. "There is nothing I can do, Gandalf. Nothing," she spat out the word as though keeping it in her mouth would poison her. "And even if he'd let me see him, I don't know if there actually is anything I can do. His past has come back to haunt him and I am certain that he is succumbing to the dark threats of his own guilt stricken conscience." She paused and came to a stop at her kitchen window. With her back still turned towards the wizard, she continued to speak more quietly. "I've spoken to Naneth. She thinks that this was bound to happen now that his physical wounds are healed. His soul however is not and thus he's trying to simply cease to exist…" Her shoulders were trembling by now, her voice reduced to a shaky whisper. "How can I let that happen, Gandalf? There is so much good in him – I saw it in his eyes, even when he was still caught in his nightmares. There is an innocence about him, a gentleness and such great wisdom of life that we all could count ourselves lucky had we only the smallest bit of all of the three within us. It is his soul that is bleeding now and there is no herb and no ointment that could help him heal." Tears were running freely now and desperate sobs came from her throat that made Gandalf get up from his seat and go down on his knees right behind the crying Hobbit. He gently placed his hand on her trembling shoulder. Turning around she threw herself into his waiting arms, weeping like a child against his shoulder.

"There, there," the Istari whispered softly as he stroked the back of her head gently. "Not all is lost just yet, my dear."

"But what if it is?" Níniël protested and was wrecked by another flood of sobs and tears.

"It is not. And if there is anybody on this island that will find a way to get through to him, it is you, my dear, dear child," he said in a comforting and encouraging tone.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because I know Frodo and I know you. He is wandering towards the shadows but he can't find his way or else he would no longer be with us. Right now he is lost to me for I have hurt him in the past by burdening him with that cursed Ring. You on the other hand have never hurt him and thus it should be easier for you to get through to him. I have not yet given up hope. After all this island is a place of peace and healing, is it not?" Gandalf gently placed his hands on her shoulders holding her at arm's length and looking her straight in the eyes. Níniël nodded weakly, still sniffling.

"I will try and visit him again tomorrow. Maybe he'll see me," she said with new found determination. "And if he doesn't, I'll try again and again until he will."

"Now that sounds a lot more like the persistent lass I once held in my arms."

"Obviously. It would seem as though history is indeed repeating itself," Níniël smirked, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"How so?"

"Well, weren't you just holding me in your arms while I was crying persistently – as you so pertinently put it?" She grinned at him and Gandalf couldn't help it but had to laugh.

"You've truly become a remarkable Hobbit," he smiled but quickly his face became serious again. "I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised. Hobbits never cease to amaze me, after all. However, I still wonder why."

* * *

~* Four weeks later, September 22nd, 1422 S.R. *~

August turned into September and after only very few hot days a rainy summer turned into a cool and equally rainy autumn. Several times Níniël tried to visit Frodo and each time his door had remained locked for her. Once or twice she had even seen him, but whenever he saw her approaching his home, he'd quickly go back inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. Those few glimpses had allowed Níniël to see for herself how dire Frodo's condition had indeed become. His image was a constant haunt in her dreams at both night and day and as the days were passing by she slowly started to realize that Nessea had indeed been right. Frodo was trying to cease to exist and when she woke up in the wee hours of the morning of the first of Winterfilth, she quickly jumped out of bed and without bothering to dress she hurried into her study. With haste she started to rummage through the various drawers and secret compartments of her bureau and when she eventually found what she had been looking for she sat down and carefully lined the fine carvings in the precious wood with her fingers, a small smile curving her lips. For a moment her worries were forgotten as she remembered what the box contained and the feelings of peace and belonging somewhere overwhelmed her. It took her a while to come out of her reverie and without spending a thought on having some breakfast she hurried back to her bedroom with the box in her hands. After she had dressed, Níniël carefully placed the box in her bag which was already crammed with all kinds of herbs, small bottles of various elixirs and other things she needed for her daily work. Taking a short detour through the kitchen and grabbing an apple she quickly headed for the front door and out onto the path that passed by her smial. A cool breeze accompanied her as her feet carried her towards Frodo's home with more haste than she realized. The apple was forgotten in her hand as she mentally tried to steady herself for the storm of anger she would most likely face.

Eventually the round green door came into view and Níniël was hardly surprised that Frodo was nowhere to be seen. Her heart beat frantically in her chest and sped up to an almost impossible pounding the closer she came to the smial. Raising a trembling hand she quickly formed it into a steadier fist and firmly knocked against the wooden door. It was still rather early and she was fully aware that it was a bit rude to visit anyone at this time of the day, but something inside her told her that any further delay needed to be avoided at all cost. The fact that no one came to answer the door didn't really surprise her and when she knocked again she found to her great surprise that the door was unlocked. Her heart skipped a beat at that and she hesitated for a brief moment, suddenly somewhat frightened by her own courage before she gently pushed the door open. It swung open with ease and revealed the darkness it had previously been hiding that was only disturbed by what little light came into the hole from the tiny windows next to the front door.

With hesitant steps she entered the smial and looked around. Peeking into the parlor she saw no one. "Frodo?" Her voice tore through the deafening silence as she slowly proceeded further into this exact replica of Bag End. Passing through the kitchen and the dining room she went towards the study – the very room where she had last seen the other Hobbit. To her great dismay the door was closed and her hand was trembling violently as it touched the firm wood of the door. Just like the front door it swung open almost on its own only to reveal a sight that made Níniël's heart skip a beat and deprived her of her breath for a brief moment. Dropping her bag to the ground unceremoniously she stormed into the small room and towards the still form sitting in the chair.

"Frodo," she whispered as she knelt down in front of him with her hand reaching up to touch his flushed cheek. His skin was hot to her touch and she drew back her hand in utter surprise when the Hobbit that sat slumped into his chair opened his eyes to reveal a glassy blue.

"What are you doing here?" he asked weakly, his voice hoarse from lack of use and an apparently dry mouth. "You should not have come."

"And allow this day of celebration to be turned into one of grief by your own doing? Look at what you've done to yourself…" Níniël found it hard to hold back her tears as she tried to study his pinched limbs and torso with the eyes of a healer.

"You don't understand… I can't live like this anymore… Not with all this darkness and guilt," Frodo argued weakly and tried to slap her hand away, which had returned to his forehead to determine his temperature.

"Maybe I don't understand, Master Baggins, but as long as you're not dead and cold I won't allow you to give up. Not after I've just found some sense of belonging," Níniël retorted and got up from her kneeling position. Even though the fever threatened to take away his consciousness he shook his head in grim determination.

"Let me be, please. Just let me go and find relief from all this pain," he begged, his voice becoming weaker by the moment.

"No, Frodo. I can't. You once showed me who you are and I cannot allow you to go without a fight. I know that you've fought more battles in your life than you should have had to, but this is the one that really counts. There is a way out of this darkness and I promise you won't have to face it alone. You did not succumb to the call of that cursed Nazgûl blade and you won't succumb to the lingering call and darkness of a cold Ring that has long been destroyed. If you fight this one last battle against Sauron's evil not all the evil in this world will be vanquished but you will be able to live and cease to just merely exist." She paused knowing that his fevered mind was probably unable to comprehend her words. With large brown eyes she looked down on him, trying to catch his gaze with her own in an effort to emphasize the meaning of her words with the determination set in her eyes. "You've already chosen to cease to exist, but you also chose the wrong path. This island is one of healing and peace. But no one has ever said that either comes without a price." Níniël watched him and before he could utter a single word of protest his eyes closed and he lost consciousness. "No," she gasped for a moment fearing that he had finally accomplished his goal. However, when she brought her hand up to his neck she felt a weak pulse underneath his pale skin and she allowed a sigh of relief to escape her throat.

Wishing she were not by herself, Níniël placed Frodo's arm around her shoulder and dragged him to his bedroom with great difficulty. As gently as she could she placed him on the bed and allowed his still form to fall back onto the soft mattress. Already breathing quite heavily she freed him of his sweat soaked clothing and spread the bedcovers over his shivering body. Níniël didn't want to leave him alone but she needed her bag as well as some cold water and so she left his bedroom to gather everything she needed. Her worry for him made her work even faster than usual and so it was only a matter of minutes until she returned to Frodo's bedside and placed a bowl, some clean cloths and a pitcher of fresh cold water on the nightstand. After she had dropped her bag onto the counterpane she opened it and retrieved some dried Athelas leaves, then crushed them with her fingers and added the tiny crumbs to the bowl. Even though the water was cold, the air in the room was immediately filled with the refreshing scent of this most potent herb and once the pitcher's contents were in the bowl, Níniël wetted a cloth in it, wrung it out and placed it gently on Frodo's forehead to bring his fever down.

Níniël sat down next to Frodo on the bed and studied his features for the longest time. Despite the fever coursing through his body, pale wasn't even beginning to describe the complexion of his skin. He was frail and too thin even by non-Hobbit-standards and slowly the realization came to her, that her arrival at Bag End had not been a moment too soon. Again tears coursed down her cheeks and she begged all the powers that she knew and knew not of to aid this dying Hobbit in his struggle back to life.

For the next few hours she just sat there, refreshing the cloth on his forehead every now and then and holding his hand in hers whenever feverish nightmares took hold of his tormented mind and body. It was with great reluctance that she left him alone for a while eventually. Frodo needed fluids quite desperately and since there was no one she could ask for help, she had to go to the kitchen and prepare some tea herself. However, before she left his bedside she placed the wooden box on the nightstand next to the bowl with the Athelas water. She wanted it to be there when he would hopefully wake at last, although she had very little hope that this would happen anytime soon.

A fire was soon crackling lively in the kitchen's hearth and the water in the kettle hanging above it was starting to boil, when Níniël removed the kettle and poured some of the hot water into a clean bucket that she had placed on the kitchen table. She placed the kettle again over the fire and added willow bark and more Athelas to the hot water in order to make a tea that would bring down Frodo's fever. She grabbed the bucket with the hot water and another one she had filled with cold water earlier and returned to the bedroom. The fever was still trapping Frodo's mind in nightmares and when she saw his rapid and uneasy movements on the bed she quickly set to work. She poured some hot water into the bucket with the cold water, just enough for it to be pleasant on the skin of a healthy person. Again Athelas leaves found their way into the water but this time Níniël did more than just placing a cloth on Frodo's forehead. She drew back the covers and began to sponge him down with the lukewarm water, first his arms and legs and finally his shoulders, chest, and stomach until the cold sweat was removed from his almost white skin. He had begun to tremble violently during her administrations and so Níniël tucked him back in warmly, replacing the cloth on his forehead with a cooler one once more before she returned to the kitchen. The willow bark and Athelas tea in the kettle was ready and she poured some into a teapot leaving some room in it as she wanted to add lots of honey to it in order to alleviate the willow bark's bitterness and at the same time to get some nourishment into Frodo's body. After placing the tea and a mug on a tray she returned to the bedroom once more and to her utter surprise found Frodo's eyes open. She rushed towards his bedside, spilling some of the teapot's content over the tray.

"Hello," she forced a smile and set the tray down on the nightstand. "How are you feeling?" Frodo didn't answer but instead turned his head so that he was no longer forced to look at her. "I've made some tea that should help with the fever. The taste won't be pleasant, I'm afraid."

"Go away," he whispered hoarsely, still not facing her.

"No," she said with a lot more confidence in her voice than she actually felt. "I can't."

"You can… and you should. Don't let me poison you… Just let me be," he pleaded weakly but the tone in his voice indicated that he was very serious.

"As I said. I cannot do that, Master Baggins. You are sick and I am healer. I once swore to tend those who need my help and you cannot expect me to disregard my oath," Níniël argued and poured a cup of the herbal tea. "I want you to drink some of this tea and I won't allow any arguments on the matter." Níniël scooted closer towards Frodo and with her hand turned his head so that he had to face her. "You do not get to decide what is poisonous for me and what isn't. I am here whether you want me to or not. I let you drive me away once. It won't happen twice."

"Please. I can't stand this pain anymore." A single tear ran down Frodo's flushed cheek and he tried to turn his face away but she wouldn't let him.

"I cannot begin to imagine the pain you're in, Frodo. But I know that it will go away as soon as you let it. You're holding onto the darkness and the pain because it is the only things you seem to remember. But there's so much more to life and if you allow those who care about you to help you, you will eventually return to the light." She paused and with her thumb she gently wiped a few tears from his hot cheek. When there were no more words of protest coming from him, she continued. "Gandalf is worried sick about you and I wish you could find it within you to let him see you."

"I disappointed him. I do not deserve his support. He trusted me to have the strength to destroy the Ring. But I didn't. How can I ever look him in the eye again?"

"Why is it that everybody can see the greatness of what you did but you? Think about it, Frodo. The highest ranking Elves are paying you their respect. Do you think they'd do that if you didn't deserve it?" There was no response and Níniël knew then and there that no more words were needed. Instead she simply brought the tea cup to his lips and he drank hesitantly. Once it was almost empty he turned his head and indicated that he had had enough. "Sleep now. And lose your demons. I'll be here." Her soft voice lulled him into a sleep that hopefully would provide him with healing and some much needed rest.


	7. Chapter 6: Redemption

**Chapter Six: Redemption**

* * *

_The faint sound of knocking against the pharmacy's door made Naneth stop in the telling of her tale. It was already dark outside and even though the knocking lacked the usual urgency, it could only mean that there was yet another emergency that required my mother's skills._

_"I'll go and see who it is at this hour," I declared and Naneth nodded tiredly. Getting up from the cozy chair rather reluctantly I went to see who it was that disturbed the quiet of the early night. The door squeaked once I opened it and into view came the quite anxious face of my father._

_"Finally," Adar sighed and rushed past me into the dimly lit room. "Is your mother here, too?" he queried and was obviously relieved when I nodded._

_"She is in the back room. We were talking. What is it, Adar? Is there something wrong with the twins or Amelia?"_

_"No, not at all. But do you realize what time it is? I was worried about you, Lily," he smiled at me but even though it was honest, the smile never reached his eyes._

_"Naneth is fine. You worry too much," I scolded and eventually returned his smile. Without another word we headed for the backroom and my mother looked up in surprise when she saw her husband enter. Shifting uncomfortably in her chair she smiled apologetically at him._

_"Is it that late all ready?" she queried sheepishly and with it tried to relieve some of the tension she sensed in my father._

_"Oh, it is even later. I thought you had forgotten about me," he pouted playfully and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. When I saw that I couldn't help but had to smile. My father was never one to show his affections in public – even if the only 'public' in the room was his very own child. "What were you talking about?" he inquired and his eyebrow rose when he saw the uneasy expression on Naneth's face._

_"It was about time for our children to know…" she started hesitantly her voice soft and doubtful. "They have a right to know."_

_"Know what?" Father was getting more confused by the moment and his deep blue eyes locked with those of my mother._

_"Where they come from. Where we came from," she explained and in that moment realization began to dawn on my father's face. "There is no shame in what has happened, Frodo." I stood transfixed in the doorway, watching my parents as they debated the matter without uttering a single word. There was something about my father's face, something I had never seen before and judging by the look in his eyes I was quite certain that he would start yelling at my mother at any second. It had never happened before, never had he even yelled at us children, but in that moment he looked ready to just burst with anger. After what felt like forever he sat down in the chair next to my mother, the one I had previously occupied and buried his face in his hands. I was uncertain whether I was supposed to stay or to leave and when I had just made up my mind to leave them to whatever argument they'd probably have, my father's soft voice tore through the nearly palpable silence._

_"How much did you tell?" he asked as he removed his delicate hands from his face and turned to face Naneth. _

_"We got as far as to the day when the shadows were about to claim you forever," Naneth said cryptically. Again there was silence and it took my father almost forever to take a very deep breath in and to rise from his chair. He held his hand for my mother to take it and she did so without hesitation. Eventually he turned towards me and a brief smile appeared on his lips._

_"Let us go home," Naneth was about to protest but he shushed her with a wave of his free hand. "There I shall tell you the rest of the story. I fear your mother would otherwise try to downplay her part in all of this by giving the whole ordeal a silly name such as fate or destiny."_

_I was speechless and followed my parents home to Bag End where - and I was certain of it – my brothers and sister would by now have started a mighty ruckus. However, when we arrived the inside of our home was quite silent. _

_"They're with the Gamgees," Adar explained as he proceeded into the kitchen, still holding my mother's hand tightly in his. Gently he guided her towards the kitchen table where she sat down. I helped my father to prepare some tea and after a short while we each sat in front of a cup of the hot steaming brew. _

_"What was in that box Naneth brought you?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity any longer and both of them smiled._

_"Oh, since I obviously interrupted this little tale on the day of my fifty fourth birthday – and your mother's fifty second I might add – that is only for much later to tell. You see, Níniël," I was surprised to hear him calling my mother by her name. He rarely did that when he was talking about her to us, "kept me quite busy that day. While I was still trying to fade away, she just wouldn't let me. For that I shall be forever grateful, for she knew what I knew not back then." His eyes became distant and a knowing smile appeared on his lips as his mind was once again consumed by memories. "There was still a life for me out there, without all this pain and grief. I was told later that Gandalf put it this way. I was wandering towards the shadows, but I couldn't find my way. Of course I would have greatly opposed this statement back then, but I could not yet see clearly. The peace that I was longing for, the healing that I was in such dire need of was there right in front of me. But I couldn't see it."_

_"Naneth can be quite persistent sometimes," I agreed, nodding my head eagerly as I remembered her strictness in the education of her children. Indeed my mother was a very loving and very caring Hobbit, but she would never tolerate any wrong doings of her children._

_"So, it was my – our – birthday, but it was not a day of celebration. But magic happened, one I had never seen before in all my life and I've seen my fair share of magic, both good and evil…"_

* * *

Níniël sat next to Frodo on the bed for the next hours. Time passed slowly as she witnessed the feverish nightmares that shook his frail body and made him toss and turn restlessly. There was not much for her to do except to keep the promise she had given him in his one lucid moment of that day. She stayed with him, held his hand tightly in hers and not a single whimper of pain could be heard in the spacious bedroom when he gripped her hand painfully tight. Without ever breaking the physical contact she kept changing the cloth on his forehead singlehandedly in a desperate attempt to keep his temperature at bay. However, the night grew darker and colder and so did Frodo's dreams. The memories of a never forgotten pain seemed to return even more vividly in his nightmares and the anguish that contorted his face into a fearful mask made Níniël shiver inwardly. Even though the Lady Nessea had told her Frodo's tale long before said Hobbit even arrived on the island Níniël had a very difficult time to image half the horror that Frodo had been through. War had always had its way of claiming the most innocent souls, to victimize them and leave them a mere shell of what they formerly were. She understood that concept but had yet to come up with a remedy for a sickness to which there was no cure that either she or the Elves knew of. So indeed, fighting his fever and being there for him was the only thing she could do and she prayed that it would be enough.

Night slowly turned into morning and the second day of Winterfilth dawned with heavy gray clouds hanging in the sky, pouring down rain on a green land and its inhabitants. During the wee hours of the morning Frodo's dreams ceased and his slumber became more peaceful and provided his body finally with some much needed rest. Níniël was tired but was too worried for Frodo as though to allow herself to lie down and get some sleep herself. She placed a soft kiss against his temple and a sigh of relief escaped her throat when she realized that his fever had gone down considerably.

"I'm sorry," she whispered close to his ear as she eventually let go of the cool hand that she'd been holding onto for many hours. But Frodo desperately needed to get his strength back and if that was to happen she needed to prepare some herbal teas as well as some light food that his weakened body would hopefully be able to digest. "I promise I'll be back soon." After cupping his cheek in her hand for a little longer than was probably necessary she quickly jumped up from the bed and took the shortcut through the study towards the atrium from where she hurried into the kitchen. The fire in the hearth had long died and it took her a while to get it going again. Suddenly all thought of tiredness and exhaustion vanished and without allowing herself a moment's rest she gathered all ingredients she would need to prepare a thick broth. Once the vegetables were sliced and added to the boiling water she stopped dead in her tracks, thinking that she had heard a faint sound coming from the bedroom. Panic rose in her and she stormed back to Frodo's bedside. His eyes were open and he looked at her in surprise when she rushed through the door, almost tripping over the doorstep in her frenzy.

"You're awake!" Níniël stated the obvious while she tried to hide her blushing cheeks from his view by straightening down her skirt. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure," Frodo said weakly and closed his eyes.

"Oh no," Níniël quickly walked up to the bed and placed her hands on her hips as she looked down on the other Hobbit. "No more sleeping for you before you haven't had at least some tea and food," she said sternly, but her voice couldn't reflect the turmoil inside of her. For a reason that she couldn't quite grasp, she suddenly felt nervous and was reminded of her days of apprenticeship with the Elves. Many of those she had spent standing next to various sickbeds accompanied by the most skilled Elven healers, not knowing in what way she could and should help those in their care. The Elves had been very patient teachers and Níniël had absorbed all their knowledge quickly. However, they had never taught her how to treat a patient that was as traumatized as the one laying before her. "If that is all right with you," she added quickly, hoping that her fake sternness had not tempted Frodo to oppose her ways of caring for him.

"I am rather thirsty," he said after a while but still did not open his eyes. "Water would be nice," he added.

"Of course." Quickly Níniël poured a cup from the pitcher that stood waiting on the bedside table and sat down next to Frodo on the bed. "Here, let me help you," she said and held the cup to his pale and cracked lips. Frodo wanted to drink greedily but she would only allow him small sips. "Easy now," she whispered soothingly even though she was quite satisfied with Frodo's sudden eagerness to actually provide his body with what it needed. It was a spark of hope.

"Enough," he croaked when the cup was almost empty. Closing his eyes once more he settled back against the pillows and heaved a deep sigh as though the simple act of drinking would have drained him of what little strength he possessed. "Thank you." His voice barely rose above a whisper and he never saw the smile that beamed down on him.

"You're most welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you or are you comfortable with being on your own for a short while. I was just about to make some tea that will help bring your fever down," Níniël asked and made a mental note to slip some caraway seeds into the mixture she was about to concoct in order to trigger his appetite. Instead of giving an immediate answer, Frodo just opened his eyes and stared at her wonderingly.

"Why are you doing all this for me?" he inquired, his weakness suddenly not quite as obvious anymore as it had been before.

"Why wouldn't I?" she replied with a question of her own and with it left Frodo lacking an answer. "I care about you, Frodo Baggins, and it pains me to see you suffering like this."

"What if I deserve to suffer like this? What if this is the punishment for my failure?" he argued and he turned his head away from her, so that she would not see the wetness in his eyes.

"You did not fail, Frodo," Níniël said quietly and before she knew what she was doing, she lay down on the bed behind him. Rolling onto her side she found herself facing his back and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. For a moment she was afraid that he would move away from her touch, that her bold action would cause him throw her out of his life once again, but he didn't even stir. "The Elves did not deem themselves capable of withstanding the Ring's power for a long enough time to journey into Mordor. Men have proven their weakness in the past and were wise enough to decline the burden. You were the only one with enough courage and strength to walk that path and they all knew it. No one else could have withstood the Ring's calling for as long as you did. To do that one must have strength within him that has yet been unknown of – even by the very wisest and oldest."

"But in the end I still claimed it as my own…"

"No Frodo, you didn't," Níniël said firmly and his sudden movement as he turned to face her took her by surprise. Now she could see the tears that ran down his flushed cheeks and his wide eyes that indicated that he probably thought that she had lost her mind saying such a silly thing.

"But I did," he cried out. "I remember it as though it were but a few moments ago that I told Sam that the Ring was mine. The disappointment in his face…"

"Was no disappointment at all and I'm sure of it. Pain, worry, these things. But never disappointment for he knew even then what you still have not understood, Frodo Baggins. You never claimed the Ring. It was the Ring that has claimed you. It was the Ring that dragged you into its darkness, that engulfed you with its powers. No one could have withstood its calling. Not Man, not Elf, not Dwarf, not Hobbit," Níniël spoke with a firmness and certainty that did not allow any arguing whatsoever. "And you, my dear Hobbit, were stronger than all others that came before you. Your purity and innocence were spoiled with so much more darkness and evil than a soul can withstand, Frodo. Nearly killed by a Nazgûl blade, stung by a creature sprung from your worst nightmares and all the while carrying the essence of evil itself around your neck. No Frodo. You have not failed. If anything, they have failed you by burdening you with what they knew was evil at its purest." Níniël fell silent and watched as Frodo was attempting to comprehend everything that she had just said. She cupped his cheek and with her thumb she wiped the tears off them. "Let go, Frodo Baggins. Let that evil rest and no longer hold you captive. There is still beauty and love and goodness in this world and with time you'll feel it again." Frodo closed his eyes at that and Níniël couldn't resist the urge to kiss his forehead. "Rest now. Sleep, if you can. I will be back when you'll awake." With it said Níniël slowly withdrew herself from the bed and came to stand on somewhat shaky legs. Frodo needed some time for himself now that much his silence had told her. Even though she was not at all certain that her words had convinced him she turned and left the room without looking back at the shaking form of the Hobbit on the bed. His grief was overwhelming him then and she knew it, but there was a kind of grief that every soul had to deal with on its own. Slowly Níniël trudged back into the kitchen where a nearly forgotten broth was cooking over the open fire. There was still time to feed it to her patient later.

* * *

Not a sound came from the bedroom as Níniël returned to it later that day with a heavy tray in her hands. It was well past noon and Frodo had slept away the rest of the morning peacefully. She had checked on him several times and had even stayed with him for most of it, but had also found herself unable to disturb his slumber. However, the healer in her told her that Frodo needed nourishment and liquids and it was with a heavy heart that she eventually decided to wake him. Trying to make as little noise as possible she put down the tray on the nightstand and poured a cup of a rather strong herbal tea made of willow bark and caraway seeds. She had added lots of honey to it for the willow bark's essence was unpleasantly bitter. There was another teapot on the tray that contained a tea that was not less potent in its healing powers but much more pleasant to consume. The heavy scent of lavender evaporated from it and she hoped that its effect of calming both body and mind would assist Frodo on his way out of his mind's darkness.

"Frodo?" she whispered his name in a barely audible voice and was a bit surprised when he stirred. Slowly and as if he was reluctant to do so he opened his eyes and tried to blink away the at first quite offending brightness of the room, which was only very dimly lit by what little light came through the closed curtains. "I've brought you some tea and broth." Níniël placed her palm on his forehead. He was still feverish but not as hot to the touch as the night before.

"I'm not very hungry," he mumbled against his pillows. "But I'd like some tea."

"All right then," Níniël complied, but grinned inwardly. She was fairly sure that after tasting the willow bark tea, he would beg for some of the broth in order to get rid of the tea's awful taste. Even honey could not disguise the bitterness that well. Frodo propped himself up on his elbow with difficulty and when he was settled Níniël sat down next to him and handed him the teacup which he accepted with a shaky hand.

"Thank you," he said and carefully took a slow sip of the hot liquid. Almost immediately he grimaced as its taste offended his taste buds but to Níniël's astonishment he finished the drink without complaining once. She took the cup from him as soon as he was finished and trying to make himself a little more comfortable against the pillows. "Bilbo used to give me willow bark tea when I was sick in my younger years," he explained and gave her a weak smile. "He also used to disguise the bitterness by excessive amounts of honey."

"Too bad," Níniël said with mock disappointment. "And here I thought that it was a trick only the Elves knew of."

"He has spent a lot of time with Elves," Frodo said with the tiniest tinge of humor in his voice. "Maybe he's learned it from them. But I distinctly remember Aunt Dora using the same recipe. And she was not too fond of folks outside the Shire."

"And here I was hoping that I could interest you in some broth to wash that awful taste out of your mouth," Níniël pouted and tried her best to look extremely disappointed, even though she did not believe for one moment that Frodo would be fooled by it. The sudden light mood was rather unexpected and she felt her heartbeat slow down a bit as a wave of relief was washing over her.

"Well it would seem that you might be able to interest me in some of that broth after all. Or was there another purpose in adding caraway to this awful tea that I am not aware of?" Frodo's eyes were closed, but he raised his eyebrow and the faintest resemblance of a smile was to be detected on his lips.

"Oh," Níniël blushed a bit as she had been certain that he would not be able to detect the third ingredient. "So, would you like some or not. I added quite a lot of mushrooms and they're probably the best you've ever tasted."

"I like mushrooms," he stated the obvious. "But before I'll have some of that broth that smells wonderful I have to admit, I want you to promise me something."

"Yes?" Níniël's eyebrows rose immediately as she stared at him confusedly.

"I'll have some of that broth if you promise to get some rest. You look exhausted," he bargained and finally opened his eyes to look at her dazzled expression.

"Well, that is something a healer is definitely not expecting to hear from a patient."

"You are no ordinary healer," Frodo said at length and the look he gave her made her feel as though he was trying to look right through her. Suddenly Níniël became very nervous and she quickly scanned the room for something that would enable her to change the subject when her gaze eventually fell on the wooden box on the nightstand that she had brought for Frodo.

"I brought you a birthday gift," she said with relief more obvious in her voice, than she would have wanted it to be. Quickly she reached for it handed it to a very puzzled looking Frodo.

"You might not be acquainted with our ways in the Shire but amongst Hobbits it is common practice that we give away presents on our birthdays. So it should be me giving you a gift," he explained and looked even more puzzled when he saw her smile at him.

"I might have been brought up by Elves. But that doesn't mean that I'm completely unaware of the ways of my own people. We share the same birthday, Frodo," Níniël almost laughed when she saw Frodo's cheek turn a little bit redder than they already were from the fever.

"I'm sorry," he stuttered at a loss for words. "I'm afraid I don't have a gift for you, though."

"Don't worry. What I see here right before me is the best gift you could give me," she said. "For the first time since I've met you, Frodo Baggins, I can now see a glimmer of hope in your eyes," she paused for a moment and her smile turned into a frown. "But come to think of it, seeing you eating some of that broth would be a nice gift, too."

"Oh my," Frodo sighed and looked at the flat wooden box that he still held in his hands. Eventually he put it on the bed beside him without opening it even though he was rather curious to find out what was hidden inside of it. "What have I gotten myself into? It certainly seems that you know how to get what you want."

"I wouldn't be very good at what I do if I didn't," Níniël smiled and reached for the bowl of broth and held a spoon out for him to take it. Frodo sat up, took the spoon from her and began to eat hesitantly. Níniël held the bowl for him and couldn't stop a satisfied grin to appear on her face as she watched him eating with appetite. However, after a while only half of the bowl's content had found its way into Frodo's stomach when he but the spoon into the bowl and left it there. "Done all ready?" she asked with some disappointment evident in her tired voice.

"I apologize," Frodo sighed and lay back against the pillows. "I'm afraid I can't handle any more right now. Probably went without proper food for a little too long. But it was good, if it is any consolation." He closed his eyes but opened them again when he heard Níniël put back to bowl onto the tray and watched her. "What's in that other teapot? I hope you don't expect me to drink more of your horrible concoction."

"No," Níniël chuckled. "It's lavender tea. It should help to chase away some of your sleep's demons." She turned to look at him and once again held her palm against his forehead. "You're not quite as warm as last night but you're still running a slight fever." Withdrawing her hand she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Have some of that tea. I promise it tastes a lot better than the willow bark and then try to get some rest." Frodo turned away from her so that she couldn't see the fear in his eyes of the shadows that haunted his sleep. He knew then and there that this was indeed a rather silly notion, since she knew about them anyway, but he was not yet ready to share willingly his innermost thoughts. "I cannot promise that it will make them all go away, Frodo. But it might just make it a little easier." Níniël got up and poured some of the lavender tea into a cup which she left on the nightstand for him to drink from it whenever he wanted to. She picked up the tray and went towards the door quietly. "Rest, try to sleep. If there's anything you need, just call for me. I won't be far." With it said she left the room and the figure on the bed to himself.

Once he heard the door close, Frodo turned and stared at it for a moment and thought that he could still feel her presence lingering in the room. He shook his head trying to clear some of the confusion but regretted it immediately as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Maybe she was right. He should try and get some rest, maybe even sleep for even though he did not know why or how his will to live on had returned to him - to continue and not give in to a despair that was much easier to embrace than any thoughts of hope – it had returned and there was no doubt about it. His eyes fell upon the small wooden box that was still lying atop the covers right next to him and he wondered not for the first time what was inside it. Carefully he picked it up, suddenly very aware of the fine Elven craftsmanship that had brought forth the delicate carvings that made it appear very fragile. The lid opened easily and a surprised gasp left his throat when he discovered the small silver leaf that was inside it. Frodo recognized it immediately for it was unmistakably a leaf that had once been one amongst many that formed the enormous and oh so familiar crown of the party tree in Hobbiton. Someone had preserved it for all eternity by coating it with silver and turning it into the most beautiful piece of jewellery he had probably ever laid eyes on. It hung on an equally delicate silver chain and even though it was obvious that both the pendant and the chain were quite old they glittered in the dim light of his bedroom.

Frodo's eyes moistened as he remembered many happy hours spent underneath the shade of the ancient tree that used to be grounded firmly in the rich soil of his beloved Shire. He closed his eyes and slowly the memories of what it used to smell like returned, what it was like to walk through the bustling yet peaceful village that once had been his home – how the few friends close to his heart had made him feel at home and loved. Frodo gave in to the warmth of the memories of happy days as he slowly drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Night engulfed the peaceful tranquility of Tol Sîdh in an ebony blanket and only a few stars could be seen through the veil of clouds that formed curious figures on the black sky. It had stopped raining and Níniël had stepped out of Bag End's front door to take a few deep breaths of the late evening's fresh air. She also hoped that it would ease the constant coughing that had started pestering her a few hours earlier.

With a heavy sigh she sat down on the bench next to the front door and stared at the silhouettes of the trees in the distance. Frodo seemed to be on the mend for the previous hours he had spent sleeping undisturbed by any nightmares that would prevent his body and soul to find the peace he needed so he could heal. No matter how much she wished for his sake that he could be the Hobbit that he once was, she knew that there was nothing that could heal his wounds completely. All he could hope to achieve was to give the memories of his days spent under the influence of the Ring a little less room, so that they would no longer torture him in every waking moment of his life. Much like it was with physical wounds the scars would forever remain and serve as a reminder of the ordeal that had almost claimed his life on more than one occasion and Níniël was determined to do everything within her might to help him find a way that was not a path of self destruction.

Another sudden coughing attack shook her and eventually convinced her to go back inside. Frodo had slept away the remainder of the afternoon without stirring once and whenever she had checked on him he seemed to be at peace. Níniël returned to the kitchen and picked up the tray that she had prepared earlier. To her great dismay she found it rather difficult to balance the tray in her hands without spilling any of the tea or the broth onto it. She was incredibly tired but right now there were more important things that required her attention than her own body's silly craving for some rest.

As quietly as she possibly could she entered Frodo's bedroom. It was almost completely dark in the room and she placed the tray on a chest of drawers before she went to draw back the curtains and open the windows in order to let some moonlight and cool night air into the stifling room.

"What time is it?" she suddenly heard Frodo murmur sleepily and turned in surprise.

"It's almost midnight. You slept for quite a while. How are you feeling?" she asked as she picked up the tray again and walked up to the bed and put it down on the nightstand.

"Better," Frodo tried to unsuccessfully stifle a yawn and propped himself up on his elbows and watched her intently as she busied herself with lighting various candles and oil lamps to illuminate the room. "Thank you," he whispered in a barely audible voice. "For the birthday gift. I'm afraid I cannot accept it."

"Why not?" Níniël turned to face him, surprise and hurt evident on her face.

"It is too valuable, one of a kind even and I don't deserve it," Frodo began and did not dare to continue when he saw the sudden flash of anger on Níniël's face.

"I think it's for me to decide whether you deserve this or not. I presume you know what it is?"

"Yes," Frodo said at length. "That's why I think I know how much it must mean to you and it is also the reason why I cannot keep it."

"It means a lot to me, you're quite right about that. For many years this necklace was all that was left of my past in the Shire. It was the only thing that connected me to where I came from. Gandalf took it with him when he rescued me from my parents' home."

"Yet another reason why you should keep it. It's all you have left from your parents, I presume."

"Indeed. I like to think that it belonged to my mother, probably given to her by my father. But to me it's nothing but a keepsake. For you on the other hand it comes with memories I cannot even begin to imagine, no matter how much I'd want to. It is not only a part of where you came from but more of who you are." Níniël sat down on the bed next to him and her heart hammered wildly against her ribcage as she took his hand in hers and fixed her gaze upon him. "I want you to have this, Frodo Baggins. But I do expect something in return."

"What?" Frodo raised an eyebrow and looked at her with suspicion.

"Let it remind you of who you truly are – a Hobbit, an extraordinary one, but still a Hobbit. It does not matter what or who they expected you to be and how the horrors of your past still try to manipulate you to finally give in to their darkness. Let it remind you," she placed her hand on his chest right above where his heart was beating more rapidly than he had ever thought possible "that you are the only one who gets to choose what from now on your life will be…" Níniël was interrupted by another coughing fit and quickly turned away from Frodo who despite the dizziness he still felt immediately sat up, worry etched into his blue eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked in alarm and placed his hand on her trembling shoulder. A few more moments passed before the coughing finally ceased and left Níniël panting.

"Nothing. I'm all right," she croaked still trying to get sufficient air into her lungs. "I might have caught a cold, that's all."

"Have you gotten any rest at all?" Frodo wouldn't dismiss the matter so easily. "You're even paler than earlier."

"Would you stop worrying about me?" Níniël shot him an angry look which immediately softened when she saw the hurt in his eyes. "I'm sorry. But please, stop worrying about me when it is really you who you should be concerned about." She saw that her words had not convinced Frodo at all. "I've brought some more broth and a fresh pot of tea." To her dismay Frodo shook his head and began to shift on the bed, moving closer to the edge.

"I cannot spend one more minute in this bed," he said wearily, still a bit confused by her harsh outburst.

"You really should stay in bed. You're still running a fever…" Níniël argued but fell silent when she saw the look in Frodo's eyes, an odd mixture of determination and despair.

"It won't kill me to get out of bed for an hour or two. Besides, there is something I need to do," he said thoughtfully.

"And what would that be?"

"You'll see. So, may I please eat sitting down at my kitchen table?" Frodo asked politely and moved closer towards the edge of the bed. He got up with some difficulty and even though he felt a bit dizzy he managed to stand on his own two feet without needing any support from Níniël.

"All right then," Níniël agreed, not convinced of his strength at all.

"I will join you in the kitchen in just a moment," Frodo said not unkindly and Níniël nodded. She quickly grabbed the tray from the nightstand but left the teapot there and headed for the kitchen. Once she was out of sight and earshot he heaved a heavy sigh and closed his eyes for a few moments to chase away the dizziness in his head. He was feeling better, but his back ached quite a bit from being confined to his bed for almost two days. Slowly he walked towards the door that led into his study and took a candle from a chest of drawers, all the while holding onto various pieces of furniture for support. With some relief he noticed that his study was still the same mess that he had left the day before and he sat down at his bureau. He placed the candle holder on a pile of books and put aside an unorganized stack of parchment to gain access to a secret compartment that was hidden at the back of the bureau. Frodo retrieved yet another book, bound in red leather, one that was quite similar to the one that he had left in Sam's care to finish it for him. A brief smile graced his features before he blew out the candle and went to join Níniël in the kitchen.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading. Revising this story is taking a lot more work than I thought. By now the story is already longer than the original version and I'm only up to chapter four of the first version.

Please review. It makes my day.


	8. Chapter 7: Becoming One (part 1)

AN: This chapter is again a split chapter. The entire thing would be way too long and I do realize that chapters with 7000+ words are a bit trying to read. So I once again cut a chapter in two.

A fair warning. The end of this chapter is AU. You'll see why. To those who have been wondering: there is no place like Tol Sidh in the Tolkien universe. It is my own creation.

FYI: I had to do some editing on chapter one. I recommend you go back and read it, but you'll still be able to follow the story if you don't.

I am quite nervous to post this chapter, as I am afraid that I am rushing things a bit. I don't know if I did so any feedback on this is more than welcome.

My thanks go to FairyTaleLover6. I don't believe she knows how she is constantly encouraging me to continue with revising this story. Plus she understands how characters sometimes seem to develop a mind of their own when you're writing them. Niniel and Frodo certainly do - thus me having to split this chapter.

I wish to provide the rest of this chapter soon, however there's no way for me to know when this will happen. I won't be home from Wednesday to Sunday and I don't know how much time I'll have to write while I'm gone. Probably not much, since there are four birthdays to celebrate - including my own.

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. If you do, please let me know.

The Lady in Black

**Chapter Seven: Becoming one**

* * *

_I stood by the kitchen window and watched the sun slowly rising on the far horizon, all the while fumbling with the silver leaf shaped pendant that hang from my neck and had been doing so for as long as I could remember. Whenever I wanted to know where it came from, my parents usually told me that it was a gift I received on the day I was born. It had not been a complete lie, but it wasn't the truth either._

_"Why did you give it to me?" I heard myself whisper and was rather surprised to hear the wavering sound of my own voice. "The leaf I mean? I surely had no idea that it used to be part of the original party tree."_

_"I thought it would be a fitting gift for the miracle that entered my life one night a little over twenty five years ago," my father spoke softly and I turned to look at him, still fighting against the tears that were threatening to spill. _

_"Why?" I heard myself again. Father had always allowed us to ask any questions we felt needed answering concerning the Great War, but what came after his departure from Mithlond had always been treated with the utmost secrecy. _

_"The leaf, my child, was never just a simple piece of jewellery. To me it became a symbol of hope. It reminded me that everything can be taken away from you and you are left empty handed. However, one thing can never be taken from you and that is hope – hope that brighter and happier days will certainly be coming your way, if you let them. If you give in to darkness and sorrow, which is so much easier than grasping onto a tiny shred of hope – you will be consumed and whatever evil is plaguing you will have succeeded," my father explained thoughtfully and cast a sideways glance at Naneth who had kept her silence for the rest of the night that was now slowly giving way to bright new morning._

_"I'm not sure I quite understand, Adar," I said and returned to my own seat at the other side of the kitchen table. _

_"Your mother brought back hope into my life. She gave me back my peace of mind…" at that I looked at my mother in a very told-you-so-fashion. She smiled tiredly at me and then returned her attention to Adar. "… and to this day, almost twenty-nine years later she still does. The leaf I gave to you because you were living proof of what your mother once told me. There was still beauty in this world and love and goodness and kindness. All of these things I saw in your eyes in the very moment I first held you in my arms. It was a miracle to imagine that such beauty had come from loins even though I was tainted by darkness and evil." He paused for a moment, apparently collection his thoughts and I suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to stir my tea profoundly so that Adar had some time to wipe the tears from his eyes. It took him a while to compose himself enough so that he could go on. "The biggest miracle of them all was that you had my eyes – even the exact same color. I swore back then that I would never let those eyes see the same darkness I had seen. As a token of this oath I gave you the leaf."Overwhelmed by her emotions, my mother kissed Adar on his cheek and hugged him tightly. No words were needed to understand what had brought forth her sudden outburst of emotion. _

_"I never knew that," I said somewhat sadly and regretted my words immediately as I could see how they pained my father._

_"And how could you?" Naneth asked rhetorically. "Your father and I once decided that this part of our history was not one suitable for anyone's ears but our own. Sam of course knew all of it, but even your cousins Merry and Pippin still lack quite a few details. All they know is that we met somewhere beyond the horizon and that your father returned to the Shire after a little over two years away from his home."_

_"But Naneth," I argued my voice playing tricks on me once again as it rose with anger. "You said it yourself earlier – there's no shame in what has happened."_

_"No shame, my child, but pain there is. For both of us. It does not do good to share your pain with those you care about the most. It sounds silly, I'll admit that, but it is always more about protecting them than it is a matter of shame."_

_"I understand… I think," I said at length and let out a heavy sigh. "So what happened after you gave father the leaf? Did he come running into the kitchen and kiss you like he always does when he thinks no one's looking?" I asked hopefully and was surprised by the hearty laughter from both my parents that I got for an answer._

_"No," Naneth gasped still fighting against the waves of laughter that shook her. Father's own laughter had died down to a mere chuckle and his face quickly became serious again._

_"No," he confirmed and shot a somewhat accusing look at Naneth. "I wish it were so. As I said before – your mother kept me quite busy back then…"_

* * *

Frodo walked into the kitchen his gift for her clutched tightly to his chest and found Níniël standing by the hearth warming her hands. Next to her on the kitchen counter a bowl of steaming broth and a fresh pot of tea were waiting to be served. For a moment Frodo considered to walk up on her so that he could come face to face to her when he gave her his gift. But his usual doubts got the better of him and he decided to silently sit down at the kitchen table and to wait for her to notice his presence as she had obviously not heard him enter. For some time he sat on his chair and watched her as she was brooding over something – over what he did not know – while she tried to get some warmth into her obviously cold limbs.

The coughing came suddenly and shook her entire form and she quietly moaned in pain once the coughing fit had passed. Frodo could hear the rattling in her chest when she took a deep breath in, as though she was trying to provide her body with a more sufficient amount of oxygen than her otherwise rather shallow breathing let in. Frodo was worried. What if Níniël's coughing was not just a mere symptom of a simple cold but something worse? He felt still far too weak to be of much help in such a case and he couldn't think of a way to find help if the need should arise. 'I wish Sam was here,' he thought and not for the first time since his arrival on the island did he wish his dearest friend would be with him as he had always been from the very first day of his new found life with Bilbo at Bag End – despite their considerable age difference of no less than twelve years. Sam would know what to do – he always did even in their darkest hours and Frodo realized that missing his gardener's vast love and friendship was darkening his spirits once again.

"Are you certain there is nothing for me to worry about?" Frodo eventually made his presence known to the other Hobbit who immediately turned towards him in utter surprise.

"It's just a cold, so, no. There's no need for you to worry about me if that's what you're implying," Níniël forced a smile to appear on her lips and quickly took both broth and tea and placed it front of Frodo on the table.

"Then please, join me for a cup of tea," Frodo asked and made no effort to hide the fact that her words had not convinced him at all. "There's something I would like to show you." He took the teapot and poured himself a cup and then waited for Níniël to join him. After fetching another cup for herself, she sat down at the opposite side of the table and watched Frodo pouring her a cup, too.

"What is that?" Níniël asked as she saw a large book bound in red leather laying on the table.

"After his adventure my Uncle Bilbo started writing a book that looked quite similar to this one. 'There and back again' he called it and in it he wrote down his quite extraordinary tale of his adventures. He gave it to me and after the Great War I wrote down the story of my own adventure. That book I left in my dear Sam's trusting hands for him to finish it. When I first arrived here I found this," he pointed at the large book "in what was to be my study. The pages were empty but I soon found myself writing again, but the story was quite different." Frodo paused for a moment, obviously more than just a bit uncomfortable to reveal his secret. "In it I wrote down my journey through the shadows – memories of the darkness that held me captive and probably still does in a way and will never entirely loosen its grip on me." His voice faded into nothingness for a while and he could feel Níniël's intense gaze resting upon him. She was listening, that much he knew, and not just simply hearing the words that came from his lips. "Months ago I thought that if someone found this after my death… that the words written in this book might make them see what that cursed Ring really did to me and how it has changed me forever. I thought they'd understand that I could no longer live with the pain and grief in my heart, that I was lost in despair forever. While I wrote all of this I overlooked the obvious." Frodo again chose to pause in his confession for where there had been words before, there was now a great black hole of uncertainty and he knew not how to conquer it. "You made me see it," he whispered after a while, still lacking the words for what he truly wanted to say.

"And what is that?" Níniël queried her voice weak and raspy, but her eyes alert and still resting on Frodo.

"I did what I set out to do. Not more, not less. I took the Ring into Mordor and no one at Elrond's council ever expected that we would make it as far as we did. No one could foresee what the Ring might do to its bearer so close to all evil's womb. Lord Elrond was the only one who could have known, but probably meant not to dishearten us by withholding his knowledge," Frodo explained and felt sudden relief wash over him once the words had left his mouth. Níniël smiled at him.

"I'm glad," she said. "I'm glad that hope has returned to you and that light is finally breaking through the dark crust that engulfs your heart with despair. You are on the mend."

"That I am and I have you to thank for it," he smiled back, glad that the moisture in his eyes had never turned into real tears. He looked down at the book that was still lying on the table in front of him and gently pushed it towards Níniël. "This probably is not quite the joyous gift one should expect for the occasion of a birthday, but at the moment it is all I have to give."

"And I thank you for it and the trust you bestow upon me, my dear Frodo. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you and thus it is all the more appreciated," she smiled warmly at him, but had to turn away from him when another coughing fit shook her body. Frodo's eyebrows shot up with worry evident in the depths of his blue eyes. Without noticing it he placed his hand soothingly over hers, which was still resting atop the table and gently stroked it with his thumb. Níniël was fighting hard against the coughing and a few moments later it eventually passed.

To Frodo's great dismay she once again chose to ignore what had happened and aimed to make him join her in her notion by sending a slight smile in his direction. "The broth will cool down if you don't eat it," she advised and took a sip from her teacup in an attempt to sooth the last remainders of the irritation in her throat. Taking a deep breath in, she felt the pain in her chest but did her best to hide it from Frodo. Still not taking his eyes of her, Frodo grabbed the spoon and eventually looked down when he proceeded to eat his broth without offering any more words of protest.

They sat in silence while Frodo ate and Níniël's mind seemed to have wandered far while she kept caressing the soft leather of the book's back with her fingertips. With some success she fought off a few more coughing fits by sipping some more of the herbal tea she had originally prepared for Frodo to aid his body in its healing. However, his eyes came to rest upon her once he had finished his meal and for a moment or two he considered to advise her once more to get some rest of her own. Eventually he came to the conclusion that it would do no good, for her stubbornness would certainly make her deny her pitiful state all the more. For a second there he found himself wondering, whether some blood of the widely spread Baggins family tree was actually running through her veins.

"I am going to retire for the night," he announced and the unexpected end of their not so uncomfortable silence shook her out of her reverie and after a few moments of recollecting herself, Níniël nodded.

"Just call for me if there's anything you should need. I won't be far," she said with a weak smile on her lips that was almost impossible to notice.

"I know," Frodo returned hers with a brighter smile of his own. 'And I hope you'll never be,' he added in his mind, although he didn't quite know where that notion had come from. "Good night, Níniël." Frodo stood up a bit too quickly and for a moment he felt quite dizzy but quickly recollected himself. Níniël had noticed, but when she was about to come to his aid, he waved her off. "Not to worry," he told her and sent a last smile her way before he went to his bedroom.

* * *

The following morning Frodo woke to a growling in his stomach. Lazily he opened his eyes and was quite surprised that the sun was already rather high up in the sky. 'Almost noon,' he thought and was quite surprised with himself. After all he was not known for spending much time in the soft and comforting embrace of a peaceful sleep. He stretched and groaned as the tense muscles in his back protested against the movement and with an unnerved sigh he drew back the covers and sat up. Dizziness claimed him once more but this time it was due to him getting up too quickly. He was quite certain that his fever was gone for he still felt weak but not as much drawn to an exhausted sleep as he had the previous days. Slowly he got up from his bed and put on his robe. With a guest in his home it would have been more polite to get dressed before he ventured anywhere, however, he had plans to take a bath after breakfast for he felt the unpleasant stickiness of his illness still lingering on his skin.

As he entered the hall Frodo half expected to hear noises coming from the kitchen, but what met him when he turned right into the west-hall and walking through the atrium towards the kitchen was almost complete silence. Apart from the usual sounds of the wind whistling through the leaves of the trees and the birds sitting on their branches and singing their lovely songs, nothing was to be heard inside of his smial. Frodo frowned as he entered the kitchen and found it empty. Surely Níniël would be up and about by now, but there was no fire dancing in the hearth, no tea had been prepared and there wasn't any sign that indicated that breakfast, or rather Elevenses had been thought of. "Maybe she has overslept, too," Frodo mused to himself in barely more than a whisper, but the very moment the words had come out from his mouth, he knew that it wasn't the case. Something was wrong. Had she read the book? Had his words written in it, the very vivid narrative of the darkness within him maybe scared her and made her leave him in a rush quickened by fear? "She'd never do that," he told himself, only half convinced of the truth of his own words. "She knew because I've told her before."

Frodo hurried into the parlor, but was disappointed yet again when he did not find her there. His heart began to beat faster and he quickly rushed into the east-hall, passed through the atrium and west-hall once more and only slowed his feet down to a walk when he came to stand in front of the closed door of his guest room. Hesitantly he brought his hand up to the door knob and slowly turned it. Dim light met him as he entered the room and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust. Before Frodo could see Níniël, he heard the sounds of her rapid shallow breaths, which was only disturbed by a few raspy coughs. Frodo rushed towards the bed and his heart skipped a beat when he discovered her pale complexion, which was only marred by a feverish flush on her cheeks. Only then he noticed that she was trembling violently underneath the covers and upon seeing that, he hurried towards a small chest and retrieved a few more blankets and gently spread them over her bed. Just when he was finished, another coughing fit shook her fragile form and when it passed Níniël's eyelids fluttered open and revealed glassy brown eyes. At first she seemed disoriented but when she discovered Frodo standing next to her bed, her eyes opened wide and she immediately moved in an attempt to get out of bed.

"I'm so sorry," she said hoarsely and not too much in control of her voice. "I must have overslept." However, when she tried to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, the weakness, which she was trying to ignore, crushed over her like a rogue wave and forced her to lie back down. She sighed heavily and the rattling sounds coming from her chest concerned Frodo greatly. Gently he placed his hand on her forehead only to confirm what he already knew. She was burning up and when she tried to settle down, she once again broke into shivers. Frodo helped her to get a bit more comfortable and covered her with the few blankets he had at his disposal at the moment.

"I was hoping to wish you a good morning when I came in here, but it seems this morning finds you all but well." Frodo sat down beside her and studied her with concern in his blue eyes. Níniël nodded weakly and closed her eyes and before Frodo knew it, an uncomfortable unconsciousness brought on by fever had claimed her. "What am I to do?" he asked her unconscious form with desperation in his voice. "Why didn't you just listen to me when I told you to get some rest?" He scowled at her for a moment or two but he knew that he needed to bring her fever down. Cool cloths would help, that much he knew and not for the first time in the previous few months he wished for Bilbo to be there and guide him with his wisdom. Of course Frodo knew how to handle a simple cold, but the symptoms Níniël displayed he had seen and felt before – many decades ago when he had been but a small child. Back then his parents had still been alive. All he remembered from the weeks he had been sick with pneumonia was the comforting warmth of his mother's embrace.

Frodo forcefully dispelled the bittersweet memories and instead tried to remember what one was to do in a case like this. Athelas was what sprang to his mind, but he didn't have any at his disposal. Suddenly he frowned. Níniël usually never left her home without her bag that held everything she needed to care for her patients. His eyes darted around the room but the familiar brown leather bag was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe she's left it in the kitchen," he mumbled to himself and as fast as his still weakened body would allow him to, he hurried towards his destination. And indeed, there he found what he had been looking for. It sat on one of the counters. Frodo took it and opened it. The strong scent of Athelas immediately invaded his nostrils and he sighed in relief. Upon further inspection of the bag's contents he also found lime blossoms, thyme, and field horsetail. Of all of these herbs he knew that Bilbo had used them in his teas against Frodo's numerous chest colds when he had still been in his tweens.

Frodo made haste to light a fire in the kitchen hearth and hung a kettle full of water over it. While he was waiting for the water to boil, he filled an earthen pitcher with cold water and put it along with a cup, a bowl, a small pile of fresh cloths, and a few of the Athelas leaves on a tray. He picked it up and returned to his guest room.

Quietly he entered and crossed the small room in a few steps. Careful not to make too much noise, Frodo placed the tray on the nightstand and put the Athelas leaves into the bowl. As soon as the water he poured in covered them, their strong scent filled the room and Frodo wetted one of the cloths he had brought with him in the Athelas water. Gently he placed it on Níniël's forehead and a worried sigh escaped his throat when he felt the heat emanating from her skin against the back of his hand.

"What am I to do?" he whispered and with pleading eyes he looked down at her, as if he was hoping that this would rouse her from unconsciousness. It did not and for a while Frodo listened to her uneven breathing. From what he saw, it was quite obvious that the supposedly simple act of pumping air into her lungs brought her great pain and Frodo felt fear rising inside of him. "What am I to do?"

* * *

A few hours later, Frodo sat by Níniël's bed and watched her feverish slumber. She had been in and out of consciousness and while she had not been fully alert, Frodo had at least managed to make her drink some of the herbal tea he had prepared. Using most of the pillows he could find, he had propped her up into a more erect position so that she could breathe more easily. But to him it seemed not enough. By now he had almost become used to the sight of pain contorting her face whenever she tried to take a deep breath and he honestly wished that he could take some of it away from her. He couldn't.

The whole situation seemed surreal. There he was, the former Ringbearer, a mere Hobbit who had managed to invade the bastion of all evil, all the while carrying the cursed essence of it around his neck; he had fooled the great eye's abominable owner and had played a major part in his downfall. Indeed, there he was, one of those who had saved Middle Earth, unable to hold back the curtains of death he watched falling down over Níniël's frail body.

She did not deserve this. Had fate not played enough cruel tricks on her just as it had on him? Had she not done so much good to so many including himself? Did she not deserve to live and see happy days – as did he?

"Do I?" Frodo whispered with a frown on his pale face.

"Do what? … Frodo…" Níniël's croaked voice brought him out of his reverie and he nearly jumped out of his seat when he realized, that he had indeed not been dreaming, that it had not been wishful thinking that had made him hear her voice. For a moment he was dumbfounded, unable to move or to utter a single word, but as her glassy brown eyes threatened to close again, he found his speech.

"Bless you, you're awake," he forced a smile on his lips and sat down next to her on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"As though I should have listened to …" Another coughing fit interrupted her and to Frodo it seemed as though this time it lasted longer. However, when he tried to take her hand in his in a comforting gesture of support, she instantly withdrew it and shook her head weakly. The fit passed and Níniël closed her eyes for a few moments. "Could be contagious…" she explained in a hoarse voice. "You're still too weak… couldn't handle it…"

"Oh but you can? Stop talking nonsense and for once let me be the one to take care of you," Frodo said with the tiniest hint of annoyance in his voice. "Besides," he continued with a smirk that was indeed quite fake, "it doesn't seem as if you had a choice, anyway." At this Níniël looked at him and to his utter surprise she did not oppose. "Would you care for some tea or water? I may not be a healer, but I do know that in times of such crisis a Hobbit's body needs lots of fluids." She nodded and Frodo, glad that he could finally do something else than to change the cool cloths on her forehead, poured a cup of the herbal tea and sat down behind her on the bed. Gently he laid his left arm around her and helped her lean against him. As soon as she was comfortably resting against his chest, he brought the teacup to her lips with his right hand and was quite pleased, that she emptied it. Placing it back on the tray, he allowed himself a small smile and grabbed a fresh cloth, put it in the Athelas infused water, wrung it out and replaced the warm one on her forehead with it. "Sleep," he whispered against her ear and even though he knew that decency demanded for him to leave the bed now, he could not bring himself to do so. Her head rested against his shoulder and whether it was fact or not, he still felt as though she was now resting a bit more comfortably now than she had been before.

"Rest," Frodo whispered and before he knew it, his lips were pressed against her damp hair and both of his arms were around her, holding her to him, as though this simple gesture of affection could fight off death itself.

* * *

The next morning found them both still in the same position; Frodo had not dared to move, afraid that it would disturb what little comfort she found in his embrace. Sometime during the night exhaustion had claimed him, too, and he had fallen into an uneasy sleep, of which he had been woken several times. Coughing fits had shaken Níniël many times during the night and Frodo could sense that each of them left her weaker and more close to the slowly opening portals of death.

However, now for once, she was resting peacefully against him and Frodo blinked as a bright morning's light met his closed eyelids. A faint sound coming from somewhere at the front of the smial made him alert and awake almost instantly.

"What day is it today?" he wondered aloud as he reluctantly slipped away from Níniël's unconscious form. Gently he eased her back onto the pillows, hoping that she was as comfortable as possible. "Is it Wednesday all ready?" he mused and at the same time he knew, that this would be indeed good fortune. Every Wednesday his week's provisions were delivered and if that were the case, an Elf would now be standing in front of his door, waiting for the home owner to open it.

Frodo all but ran down the long corridors and was quite out of breath when he came to a halt at the round green door. Quickly he opened it and indeed. There was Glorfindel standing outside, and obvious concern left his fine features once he saw Frodo standing behind the now open door.

"Mae govannen, Iorhael," the Elf greeted Frodo with a slight bow.

"Oh, and well met indeed, my dear friend," replied Frodo, unable to hide the relief in his voice.

"You seem troubled," Glorfindel observed and his own relief was once again replaced by an expression of sorrow. "Is there something wrong?"

"It's Níniël," said Frodo stepping aside, so that Glorfindel could enter. "She is gravely ill, pneumonia I'm afraid and I fear she is fading. I don't know what to do." Without waiting for a reply, Frodo hurried back to his guest room with Glorfindel following him as quickly, as the low ceilings of the smial allowed him to.

Upon entering Níniël's room, the smell of sickness immediately insulted the Elf's nostrils and he swiftly but hurriedly approached the bed of the ill Hobbit. He placed his one hand on her forehead and his other on her chest and closed his eyes for a few moments. There was great infection inside of her and by simply touching her the way he did, Glorfindel knew, that she was indeed closer to the dead than to the living. To Frodo these mere moments appeared to be eternity until the Elf eventually withdrew his hands from Níniël and opened his eyes again.

"I tried to bring her fever down and get some fluids into her and help her breathe a little more easily. But so far not much good has come from it," Frodo said, desperation evident in his voice, as he saw the serious look on the fair Elf's face.

"She is very ill, I am afraid to say. Indeed it seems her lungs are infected and she will be consumed by fever if we can't bring it down," Glorfindel said quietly and knelt down in front of Frodo. He placed his hand on the Hobbit's shoulder. "Please, be so kind and help me collect the things I will need to tend to her. While I do that, I ask you to find some rest. You are pale, Iorhael, and since I cannot stay for very long, the task of nursing her back to health will be in your hands."

"But… but… I can't! I am no healer! What if I make it worse?" Frodo protested.

"Everything you did, Iorhael, has helped her in fighting off the infection in her lungs. The tea you prepared has all the right ingredients and the Athelas has helped to keep her temperature at bay. There is only little more that can be done for her and it is beyond what anyone could expect you to know or do. You did well. Do not doubt yourself so much, Master Perian," Glorfindel tried his best to reassure Frodo.

"I am scared… for her…" Frodo said quietly, his eyes wandering towards the still Hobbit on the bed. "Why is this happening?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought this place… this island was supposed to bring healing and peace… that no evil could prevail here. Is this not evil, Glorfindel?" Frodo's words were agitated as he pointed his finger towards the bed and the Elf looked at him knowingly. "How is something like this even remotely possible in the Undying Lands?"

"Indeed evil cannot prevail on this island, Master Perian. But that does not mean that sickness and death are no risk here either. There is one thing you have to understand. Tol Sîdh is not yet a part of the Undying Lands. It is but the last stronghold before one is to enter the blessed realms of Eldamar. Here the wounded and ill come to heal. Once their bodies are healed they journey on to the Undying Lands where they may find peace and from there they will never return."

"So are you saying that this is still part of Middle Earth?" Frodo queried, confused by the Elf's words.

"There is not an answer to this question, I am afraid. This island is probably best described as a place between the realms from where ships can depart both ways."

"So I could return to the Shire if I wanted to?"

"That is not for me to say, Iorhael, for no mortal who has set foot onto this island has ever travelled back." Glorfindel paused and allowed the information he had provided Frodo with to sink in and eventually rose from his kneeling position.

"These things should be of no concern to us right now," Frodo said at length and looked up at the tall Elf. "So, what can I do to help you?"

"Showing me where I can find what I will need should suffice, Master Perian," Glorfindel answered with a smile and the two of them set to work.


	9. Chapter 8: Becoming one (part 2)

Chapter Eight: Becoming one part 2

* * *

Frodo sat at his kitchen table. The scarce breakfast of fruit, jam, and toast still sat in front of him, barely touched. He had made quick work of washing up and dressing once he had left Níniël in Glorfindel's care. His thoughts, however, were still in the room with the Hobbit he had grown to care for more than he was willing to admit, and with the Elf to whom in a way he owed his life.

_And what have I made of his gift?_ He sighed and buried his face in his hands. The realization suddenly hit him with unexpected force that, even in his hours of grave peril, kindness and helping hands had come his way, too - even long before he first awoke to the sight of Aragorn's tired features hovering above his, back at the field of Cormallen.

The sound of rolling thunder tore him from his short lived reverie and only then did he notice how dark it was in his kitchen. Heaving a sigh, he went to the round window and cast a glance outside. Heavy clouds were shutting out the sun's warm light. In the distance, he could see the blinding brightness of lightning bolts ripping the gray sky apart. As the storm was quickly approaching, memories of dark days long in the past, which were spent in the enemy's territory, threatened to return. For a few moments Frodo closed his eyes and with force he drove them to the back of his mind. Since there was enough sorrow in the present, he found no need to linger in the shadows of his troubled past.

Soon the soft breeze became a mighty storm. As the rain started clashing against the window's glass, Frodo realized something. While this storm would most likely bring destruction, it would also bring renewal. The rain would replenish the land and allow everything to bloom with much more beauty than before. In the forests, the old dead leaves would be blown away to free the ground, let it breathe once more and thus allow it to harbor new life. Even the grass on the plentiful meadows would be greener after it. Once the clouds were gone, a bright new day would greet everyone and everything that roamed the island. The sky would be brighter, too, and the sun would feel much warmer and more comforting than ever before. For everyone. Even for him.

_I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me.*_

Frodo remembered his words to Sam as clearly as though he had only spoken them yesterday. A storm had indeed nearly destroyed all of Middle Earth. Not even the Shire had been spared. But the storm had passed. It had left new life from beneath the ruin, and the land rejoiced after thunder, storm, and rain had nearly destroyed it.

"I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved. Even for me." Frodo spoke the words aloud and listened closely to his own voice. Carefully, he weighed their sound and meaning in his thoughts, trying to find even the smallest hint of a lie within them. "It's not a lie. Not anymore," he whispered. He allowed relief to engulf his body and mind. What was once true had now become a lie. A new truth had blossomed in the soil of all the turmoil he had gone through ever since his arrival on Tol Sîdh. And the one who had planted the seed for it lay in a bed closer to death than life.

Frodo sighed heavily. There was no seed for him to plant, no new life that he could help to come to full bloom. All he could do was to try and convince a life that was withering to keep fighting and find new meaning in a future that still lay ahead.

"Iorhael?" Glorfindel's voice broke into Frodo's reverie like a stone breaking the smooth surface of water. Startled, the Hobbit turned to face the Elf who stood half-bent in the doorway of Frodo's kitchen. "I did not intend to startle you. My apologies."

"There's no need for apologies, my friend," Frodo said. He watched the tall Elf expectantly. "How is she?"

"She is resting," Glorfindel said. He let out a breath he had held for a little longer than necessary. "I bathed her and her fever went down a little. Aside from that, I fear her condition is not much improved."

"What does that mean?" Frodo asked, worry etched in his voice.

"Only time will tell, Iorhael. There is little we can do for her, except to give her as much fluids as possible and hope that she will make it through. Infections of the lungs often are fatal."

"I know." Frodo nodded slowly and closed his eyes for a moment.

"I must leave," Glorfindel said quietly with a hint of regret in his voice.

"The weather is ghastly, my friend," Frodo opened his eyes again and looked at the tall Elf. "You should stay for a little while longer."

"I fear that I cannot be delayed any longer. I will unload the wagon before I leave." Glorfindel gave Frodo what he hoped would be an encouraging smile. "Please, prepare more of the tea you made earlier for Níniël. It was a highly potent mixture." The Elf paused for a moment. "Don't worry, Iorhael. As soon as I will be back at the palace, Lady Nessea shall hear of this and she will send someone to help you." He saw the lingering exhaustion in the Hobbit's pale blue eyes. Frodo only nodded and then slowly turned his back at the Elf. He began to prepare more of the herbal tea for Níniël.

"Thank you," Frodo whispered as he poured boiling water into a teapot.

"Namarie, Iorhael. May the blessings of the Valar be with you both," said Glorfindel. With that, he left Frodo alone.

* * *

After the thunderstorm had passed, the pouring rain remained and Frodo watched the drops running down the smooth surface of the window's glass. Small wet trails wove patterns that enchanted his mind and reminded him of long rainy afternoons at home. Oftentimes Bilbo told a story that would banish the boredom of the long hours they were both trapped within the homely walls of Bag End.

"You would like Bag End. The real Bag End." Frodo turned his head and looked at the sleeping form of Níniël on the bed. She had not woken since Glorfindel's departure. The coughing fits had lessened, but still seemed to be equally painful whenever they shook her. "As beautiful as it is here, the tunnels do not hold the history of the Hobbits that lived there before me or even Bilbo." He smiled sadly and stifled a yawn as he paused. "There is so much … life in Bag End, so much that makes it a special place. I am glad that Sam and Rosie will finally make this home what it always was supposed to be. Their children are going to fill it with laughter and tears, with joy and sorrow." His voice died down and tears began to fill his eyes. And as if he was worried that she would suddenly open her eyes and see them, he looked down. With a quick movement of his hand, he wiped the moisture from his eyes. Gently, he took her hand in his and stroked her limp fingers. Her hand was different from the hands of the lasses of the higher class back in the Shire. It was calloused from working long hours in her garden and she kept the nails quite short.

"It is so different here on this isle. Everything is different. Even you." His voice hardly rose above a whisper as he spoke to her, his eyes fixed on her hand in his. "Hobbits in the Shire are nice enough. But they can't understand what happened to me – to all of us. Sometimes I wonder how Sam and Pippin and Merry can cope with all this." He shook his head in frustration and sighed heavily. "I don't think they've forgotten but they found new meaning in their lives, a meaning that is more powerful than painful memories. They have a purpose in their lives. Sam has a family and one day Pippin will be Thain of the Shire." He chuckled softly. "Imagine that! And Merry, my dear Merry. One day he'll be the Master of Brandy Hall. I should have liked to see all of this come to pass. And very much so." For a while he sat at her bedside in silence without ever letting go of her hand.

"I think you would like the Shire and Hobbiton at that. There is much to see in Middle Earth, so many wondrous and beautiful places such as Rivendell or Lothlórien. But nothing is quite like the Shire." His thumb stroked the back of her hand and he gently traced the soft blue lines of her veins underneath the pale skin. "The grass is so much greener; the flowers are more colorful than anything you've ever seen." Frodo smiled at the memory of his old homeland. "I wish I could show you all of this and share its beauty with someone who will cherish it." A lonely tear rolled down his cheek and he bit his lip. Her hand still rested in his right one, the one with the missing finger. She wouldn't mind. That much he knew.

What was happening to him? How could he be so sure that she wouldn't mind? Frodo heaved a sigh and let go of her hand. He stood up and began to pace the room. His eyes were wandering restlessly as he studied the familiar paintings and other wall decorations that he had seen a hundred times before. In the end they always came to rest on Níniël's still form on the bed. The skin of his palm was still tingling from the sensation of her hand in his. This hand had greeted Elves- a king even- but never had he felt anything like that before.

Frodo sat down in a chair on the far end of the small room. He needed distance, he needed to think. Normally back at home he would have gone for a long walk; he would have breathed in the clean and refreshing air of an autumn afternoon in the Shire. Under the circumstances this was next to impossible. Just the idea of leaving her alone made his heart beat rapidly with agitation. It was absurd, really.

Without realizing it at first, he had begun studying her body and eventually that only added to his confusion. She was different from him and it only began with her appearance, which he found rather attractive. Whereas his appearance was quite untypical for a Hobbit, she was as normal a Hobbit as they came. Brown eyes, curly brown hair, well-rounded hips… In a way it was strange that she'd fit into the Hobbits' society better than he ever had – considering that she had never lived amongst her kind.

These were things obvious to anybody who looked at Níniël. But Frodo saw her in a different light. She was kind and yet not afraid to speak her mind – whether he was keen on hearing it or not. She had listened to him and never judged him, but instead had offered a point of view that was new and very much unlike anything he'd ever heard before. Without knowing it and without intending to do so, she had found a key that had reopened a door he once thought would remain locked forever. Through the deep forest of pain that had swallowed him alive, her different perspective on his deeds had become the light that had guided him back home to himself. And for that he was thankful.

Frodo shook his head as if to clear it and got up from his chair. Slowly he walked towards the bed, sat down next to her and took her hand in his. For everything she had done for him, he was full of gratitude. But another seed had begun blooming in his heart. Was it – he hardly dared even thinking it – love? And if it was indeed that, why had his heart chosen her? Was it because he thought she understood him? Or was it rather because of something he saw in her eyes that reminded him of coming home after a long and tiresome journey? Was it because with her he felt safe? The protective walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble and fall whenever she was around. Somewhere deep inside he knew that she felt the same way.

The thought that she could die threatened to break his heart in two. Gently he stroked the back of her hand with his free one as if that little gesture could give her the strength she needed.

"Níniël," he whispered. "You_ have_ to come back to me. You know that, don't you?" He smiled sadly down at her, not really expecting an answer.

* * *

Five days passed without Níniël regaining consciousness. Frodo hardly ever left her side and, when it couldn't be helped, he only did so reluctantly. Every day that passed without her opening her eyes left Frodo more concerned for her and wondering what he would do in case she didn't make it. Her fever still lingered, but never rose to a point where her body couldn't take it anymore. The coughing came less frequently and she seemed a bit more at ease.

Frodo spent most of the time either sleeping next to her on the bed, so that he wouldn't miss it in case she needed him, or telling her stories of the Shire. In these quiet hours, peace seemed to settle upon them both and Frodo was more content than he remembered to have been in a very long time. Whenever possible, he coaxed more of the herbal tea down her throat and sometimes even managed to make her swallow a few sips of a light broth he always kept warm over a small fire in the kitchen hearth.

Hunger was a need that had returned to him during these days and so had his will to live. He felt that his life still had a purpose, that there was something still out there waiting for him to discover it. Hopelessness had been replaced by the certainty that he still had a future. However, what this future held for him was still a mystery and for that he was thankful. His curiosity was sparked and fueled by the future's secrets in a manner he had thought was lost and long forgotten.

It was during the late hours of the night of the fifth day that Frodo woke to the sensation of movement right next to him. A single lamp shed only very little light as he sat up in bed. Sleep's fogginess still held him and so at first he thought that he was imagining things when he looked down on Níniël's face. Her eyes were moving rapidly behind closed lids as if she were caught in the claws a terrible nightmare. But only moments later her eyes began to flutter open and almost immediately a coughing fit shook her already weakened body. Suddenly wide awake, Frodo almost jumped out of bed. Quickly he walked around it and then poured fresh water into a mug. He gently supported her head with his free hand as he brought it to her pale lips.

"Easy there," he said in a soothing voice. He smiled down at her. "Drink this." The coughing subsided and Níniël managed to swallow a few sips. When she turned her head aside, Frodo put the mug back on the nightstand and took her hand in his once more. "How are you feeling?" he asked a little sheepishly. At first a sigh was all he received for an answer.

"Tired," she admitted and closed her eyes once more. Frodo couldn't help it; he had to smile. He had always taken her for one who didn't allow herself to show weakness – not even in a situation such as this. Softly he placed his palm on her forehead, checking her temperature. She did no longer feel as hot to the touch as the day before.

"You may sleep as long as you wish. But first I need you to drink some more of this tea," he said, pouring some of the tea into a cup. Níniël forced her eyes open and Frodo could see how much that simple act drained her strength. She eyed him curiously.

"Did you make that?" Her voice was barely audible.

"Don't worry. Glorfindel approved of the herbal mixture." Frodo smiled and brought the cup to her lips before she could voice any more words of protest. Obediently, she slowly drank down all of the warm liquid. Its taste was not at all unpleasant. Frodo had added lots of honey to the otherwise bitter brew. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Sleep…" she said hoarsely, her eyes already drifting shut again. "I just want to sleep."

* * *

The next few days passed in an equal fashion. Níniël would wake every now and then, giving Frodo the chance to administer small amounts of the herbal tea. The tea, along with long hours of sleep, seemed to work. The coughing fits were losing their severity and her temperature had gone down to an almost normal level as well.

Frodo told many a tale to her – and himself. At length he spoke of the Shire, the Hobbits that lived there and the many friends he had left behind. He was never sure whether she could actually hear him, but sometimes he thought he saw the hint of a smile on her lips when a particularly funny or pleasant memory was retold.

It was almost two weeks after her first falling ill when Níniël woke one morning to find Frodo soundly asleep right next to her on the bed. Frowning, she turned toward the sleeping Hobbit and studied his peaceful features. She wasn't sure whether she had ever seen him as untroubled as he seemed to be in these wee hours of the morning. No frown wrinkled his forehead, his eyes were no longer moving restlessly as his soul was haunted by the nightmares of his memories of a war and a battle that he never should have been forced to fight.

Although she had no idea for how long her illness had claimed her consciousness, she could see that Frodo had taken care of himself during that time. He had gained a little weight, even though he was by no means back to what he used to look like when she had first met him. However, it was obvious that he was no longer ailing and for that Níniël was thankful.

When the raspy, almost suffocating feeling in her throat returned that would force her to find at least some relief in another coughing fit, she tried to hold it back at first. Just for a few more moments she wanted to cherish the sight of his peaceful sleep. But in the end the urge in her chest forced her to wake him. Níniël coughed violently. Almost immediately, Frodo's eyes fluttered open and surveyed the room unfocused at first. The sound of coughing next to him quickly forced him back to reality. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he turned towards Níniël. A violent spasm had taken hold of her and a few tears from the exertion ran down her pale cheeks.

Frodo reacted quickly and, leaning over her, he poured fresh water into a mug. He brought it to her lips. She wanted to drink greedily, but Frodo only allowed her small sips. While she drank, he whispered soothing words. Eventually the mug was drained and Frodo put it back on the nightstand. Níniël had sunk back into the pillows breathing heavily. Tiny raspy sounds accompanied each of her breaths. Frodo felt her temperature and was quite surprised to find that she felt normal to his touch.

"Thank you," Níniël whispered hoarsely. She gave him the smallest smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked in response.

"Better, I suppose." She took a deep breath in and closed her eyes for a moment.

"I was hoping you would say that," Frodo smiled and took her hand in his. Throughout the previous two weeks he had gotten used to this small gesture. "Your fever is gone and it would seem that the worst of the coughing is over. Does it still hurt?" To his relief, Níniël shook her head.

"It doesn't," she confirmed, opening her eyes again. "I am so sorry, Frodo. I shouldn't have let this happen." Her voice was growing gradually stronger as she spoke. "I suppose my foolish sense of a healer's pride made me deaf for my own body's cries for help."

"Don't worry about that," Frodo said. He gently removed a stray wisp of her hair from her face. "It is often so that the choices we make are unwise."

"Still, I should have known better."

"I won't deny that but it can't be helped, now can it?" Frodo wanted to say something else but a low rumbling in his stomach reminded him that it was time for breakfast. Níniël chuckled at that.

"It seems the Hobbit in you has awoken once more," she said with a grin. "You should go ahead and make yourself some breakfast," Níniël advised. She tried to sit up, but the world started spinning when she had eventually managed to bring herself into an upright position. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to force the dizziness away by the power of her will. Frodo was already halfway out of her bedroom when the rustling of the bed sheets made him turn around once more. His eyebrows shot upwards when he saw that Níniël was attempting to get out of bed.

"What are you doing?" he cried. He hurried back to her bedside. He was about to gently push her back into the pillows when he noticed her shaking her head desperately.

"I have to…" she looked up at him and Frodo saw the blush on her cheeks. For a moment he feared that the fever had returned. "I have to go…" she said quietly, then blushed furiously. Comprehension dawned on Frodo and he felt the heat rising in his own cheeks.

"Oh," was all he managed to utter. Of course he had assisted her in the matter before. But then she had been feverish and hardly conscious at all. He had even given her several sponge baths. However, with her awake and alert, it was a different matter altogether. "Well," Frodo announced and steeled himself inwardly. He reached under the bed and brought forth a chamber pot. "I'll help you," he said. Without waiting for her approval, he put her arm around his shoulder and helped her to lower herself on the chamber pot. With his free hand he maneuvered the fabric of her nightshirt out of the way, so that it wouldn't end up getting soaked. Once he was sure that she was as comfortable as possible, he retreated. "I'll wait outside," Frodo said and left the room.

The few minutes he had to wait outside seemed never ending. When Níniël finally called his name, he had to force himself to open the door without displaying the urgency he felt inside. Frodo stepped into the room and found Níniël sitting on the bed, holding her head in her hands.

"This is quite the lesson in humility," she mumbled through her fingers when she heard him approaching.

"You should lie down," Frodo said, ignoring her remark. He knew exactly how she felt for he had found himself in the same unpleasant situations on more occasions than he cared to remember. Quickly he grabbed the chamber pot and went to empty it. When he returned, he placed it back under the bed and sat down next to her. Níniël only nodded but remained seated.

"How long was I delirious?"

"For almost two weeks," Frodo informed her matter of factly. She looked at him, horrified.

"Wasn't there anybody to help you or to come and bring me home? You were not well yourself."

"Glorfindel came on the second day of your illness. He promised to send someone to help. But no one came, not even for the usual weekly deliveries." Frodo shrugged and turned to look at her. "I was wondering about that but at least it gave me the chance to repay you for what you did for me," he added with a smile.

"I am sorry." The look in her still somewhat glassy eyes told Frodo that she truly meant it.

"Don't be. I've learned a valuable lesson. But that's for another day to tell." For a moment or two he studied her pale face and decided to change the subject before she could ask any further questions. "Rest, Níniël. I will go and make breakfast and bring some to you. How does that sound?"

"Terrible," she stated seriously but then grinned. "I know that I really shouldn't be up and about and I will admit that I still feel tremendously weak. However, I doubt that lying down would be very restful, because my back is hurting somewhat badly." She gave him a pleading look. "Would you kindly allow me to stay out of bed for a while? At least until breakfast's over? I promise to go back to bed immediately afterwards."

"All right," Frodo agreed hesitantly. He stood up from the bed and offered her his arm. "But only if you let me help you."

* * *

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Níniël had indeed returned to bed after breakfast. Almost immediately she had fallen asleep, as the little trip to the kitchen and back had proven to be rather exhausting.

For the first time in many days Frodo spent a few hours in the garden of his smial. Níniël's health had improved considerably and they had both agreed that she was indeed on the mend, even though she would still need plenty of rest.

Sitting on a bench with his eyes closed, Frodo enjoyed the warm rays of the late summer sun. The scent of the flowers and the sweet smell of the grass reminded him painfully of his home. More than once he caught himself thinking that he would very much like to take Níniël to the Shire and show her his home – and hers too. All though the promise that he would find healing in the west had been fulfilled, the longing for his homeland had never died. And after a year on this island he found himself wanting more than that and, for the first time, he knew exactly what his heart desired the most. A place to call home. A family of his own. A sense of belonging – a sense of needing someone and being needed by that special someone. In Níniël he had found all that and even though all of this would remain probably nothing but a dream, she would still be real.

* * *

Níniël's room was lit only by a single candle on her nightstand when Frodo came back to her room later that night. Most of the day she had spent sleeping. Only lunch and supper had interrupted her day's rest for short periods of time and Frodo was certain that she was still asleep. Without making a sound, he snuck into the room and walked up to the bed. Carefully he sat down on it next to her and gently placed his palm on her forehead as had become his habit. She was a bit warmer than she had been in the afternoon, but her temperature was not alarming.

"Good night," he whispered and, before he knew it, he had bent down and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. At that she moved slightly but to Frodo's great relief she did not wake. Quietly he stood up and walked towards the door.

"Tell me more about the Shire," he suddenly heard her muffled voice. Níniël turned on the bed and looked at him. "I want to know what my home is like – what your home is like." Frodo just stared at her for the longest time until his feet started moving on their own accord.

"It is the most beautiful place in all of Middle Earth," Frodo whispered as he lay down next to her on the bed. "And the most wondrous creatures you can imagine inhabit it: Hobbits…"

* * *

The next morning Frodo woke to the sound of knocking against the front door. Still caught in a peaceful slumber's tight embrace, he blinked his eyes open and felt a light weight on his chest. He looked down and saw Níniël's head resting there. Almost immediately Frodo was wide awake as he remembered the previous night. He had told her about the Shire, about Hobbits and she had asked him many questions until there were no more words left unspoken. In that very moment their eyes had met and, as blue bore into brown, they came closer to one another. Their kiss had been soft and yet filled with longing and, when their lips had finally parted, all the words in the world had lost their meaning. Holding on closely to each other they had fallen asleep and now Frodo was forced to escape their warm and comforting embrace.

He somehow managed to slip out of her arms and her bed without waking her. On tired legs he trudged toward Bag End's front door and cringed when the soft knocking could be heard again.

"Coming," he mumbled and eventually reached the door. His eyes widened when he discovered who was waiting outside. A tale female Elf stood there. Her dark hair fell in soft waves down to her hips and framed the delicate features of her face. Wisdom accumulated by the passing of millennia shone in the dark blue depths of her eyes as she looked down on him.

"Mae govannen, Iorhael," she greeted him. To his surprise, she bowed slightly. "I am Nessea, queen of this small island and I wish to see my foster child."

"My lady," Frodo gasped in wonder. He bowed and then stepped aside, granting her entrance. He expected her to be followed by a small entourage but she was indeed alone. "Allow me to lead the way," he said. When she nodded he headed for Níniël's room. Frodo knocked softly and entered the small guest room. The early morning's first sunlight fell through the round windows. He had forgotten to draw the curtains the previous night as was normally his habit.

Nessea walked past him towards the Hobbit-sized bed and sat down next to Níniël. Her every move was graceful and Frodo watched a little bit awe-struck the scene unfolding before his eyes. Níniël's eyes opened slowly and, as her foster mother's image penetrated the hazy state of mind between sleeping and waking, a small smile formed on her lips.

"My child," Nessea's soft voice broke the silence in the room and Frodo could only guess that she smiled down at the lass on the bed. "I was worried about you." She turned toward Frodo and looked at him earnestly. "But it seems you were in good hands. My trust in you, Frodo Baggins, was not misplaced."

"You knew what was going on here?" he asked her, puzzled. He stepped closer to the bed. Inside he was debating with himself whether he should feel furious or relieved. Furious because that Elf obviously had known about the perilous danger Níniël had been in. Relieved because that meant that she had never been in as much danger as he had thought. Nessea nodded.

"I did and I took a risk when I did not step in and send someone to aid you. Things were meant to unfold this way." She shot Frodo a meaningful glance and then turned to face Níniël once more who had not yet uttered a single word. "Your time on this island is coming to an end, my dearest child. Soon you will return to where you belong and live amongst those of your own kind."

"Mother," Níniël croaked and was instantly hushed by the Elf's finger on her lips.

"I did not foresee that this would happen, but I am glad that you both were finally able to banish the loneliness from your hearts." Nessea paused and placed a small pouch made of green silk next to Níniël on the bed. "It is a gift that I want you to take with you should the two of you decide to return to Middle Earth. It is uncommon that a mortal should be allowed to leave this realm…" Nessea turned to Frodo. "… but it was decided that this shall be your reward, Iorhael. A life amongst those who are not of your own kind is not what your heart desires. It is the gift of the Valar to you. You may stay, go back to the Shire or move on to Tol Eressea. But bear in mind that there will be no going back should you decide to return to your home." Turning to Níniël she continued. "Níniël, you were always allowed to return to Middle Earth should you wish to do so. For you I have another gift – the gift of your name." She smiled down at the Hobbit lass who had tears in her eyes. "Your parents never had the chance to name you, but know this: your real name is Peony Flourish. You're the daughter of Murinel Flourish and Rosmertha Goodbody. This is all I can give you. These are your roots planted in the Shire. It is up to you whether this sapling will grow and blossom."

Before either of the Hobbits had a chance to react, Nessea got up and went for the door. "It is time for me to leave. May the blessings of the Valar be with you and guide you on your path – wherever it may lead you." She bowed slightly and before she left a hushed "Namarie" was to be heard by two pairs of pointy Hobbit ears.

* * *

* J.R.R. Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King

AN: Many thanks for those who reviewed. I know it took me a while to post this, but I hope it was worth the wait. :-)

This chapter was beta read by the wonderful FairyTaleLover6. Her suggestions and support are more than I ever hoped for and I am truly grateful for all the hard work she put into my story. Thank you so much!


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